The Three Thorns (15 page)

The sound of the mob grew louder, sending their noise toward the listening skies.

“There they are!” yelled another.

“Sebastian Cain! You will pay dearly for this, boy,” one man shouted from the crowd. It was none other than Viktor, followed closely by his vindictive wife Greta.

“My runaway pupils!” screamed the all too familiar and horrid voice of Mr. Jennings, pointing a bony finger at them.

“Those flying things will surely hear us now,” said Tommy, gawking up at the night sky. Just then Viktor approached the bridge accompanied by a policeman, and Peter motioned for the boys to gather behind him.

“Don’t be alarmed, young Sirs, we’re here to help,” the policeman said, taking small steps toward them. Viktor rudely pushed the officer aside, trudging across the middle of the bridge, determined to get ahold of Sebastian.

“Sebastian, come here,” he bellowed in his thick Russian accent, spitting out of rage.

“Stay put,” Peter commanded to the three boys before he crossed along the bridge to meet the imperious man.

“Move aside, you little waif,” Viktor barked for the whole mob to hear.

Peter confidently stood his ground, blocking the man’s pathway.

“How dare you defy your elder, maggot!” Viktor yelled, taking another step toward Sebastian.

Peter took out his dagger and pointed it at Viktor. The three boys stood in pure disbelief while the angry mob began shouting and banging their sticks.

In that intense moment, devilish screeches from the assassins echoed down through the trees and silenced the entire mob below, making everyone look to the skies.

“This isn’t for you to see, but you left me no choice,” Peter called back at the mob. In one straight line he spread another row of seeds onto the stone bridge and over the moss that grew on it.

The ground shook and the stone cracked, making way for weeds that started to rapidly grow. A great tree followed through the weeds. It shot up in seconds, tearing through the bridge’s rocky surface and sending shockwaves through the forest. The tree’s long, heavy branches ripped the bridge in half, separating the children from the mob.

“What on earth is this?” shouted Greta.

“Witchery!” Viktor replied, addressing the mob.

“They are the devil’s children!” Mr. Jennings screamed hysterically, causing instant panic amongst the crowd.

“Keep back!” Peter yelled as the tree emerged beside him. Soon there wasn’t much left on Peter’s side of the bridge but a mound of broken blocks of brick and soil.

The top of the magic oak tree sprouted past the tallest tree in the forest, presenting itself to the assassins amidst the skies. Dark clouds formed and wild winds picked up, covering the crowd in dust and dead leaves.

Tommy noticed the persistent and distinctive odor first. The stench filtered through the heavens prior to their appearance. The first assassin appeared from the woodlands behind the crowd. It had used its dark magick to take on its previous disguise. No one seemed to question the odd and sudden arrival of the police Inspector.

“Inspector, thank goodness, we’ve been trying to find you since that disaster at the Royal Opera House,” Mr. Jennings cried out, almost leaping for joy at the villain’s return.

“My wife and I will be taking your entire department to court for this, Inspector,” Viktor snapped. “You’ve damaged our business reputation.”

Keeping his back to them, the Inspector calmly crossed what was left of the bridge, rudely ignoring the mob. He leaned to one side in front of the magic tree to get a glimpse of the three runaways huddled behind it.

“We meet again.” The Inspector smiled, pointing his leather-gloved hand to Tommy when Peter swiftly blocked the Inspector’s view.

“Bravo. You made it this far. But enough games. Hand them over,” he added casually.

Peter shook his head in silent disagreement.

“Think of how many lives you can save in the long run, if you would but spare these three to me now. There doesn’t have to be a war over this. There’s been too many of those already. Say, why don’t we end this one, before it begins?”

“Okay…come and end it,” Peter taunted.

The Inspector’s face scrunched into a look of anger and spite. Seconds later, he called out to his co-assassin above him using inhuman sounds.

Greta screamed and fainted at the ghastly sight of the Inspector transforming himself back into the heavily armored assassin he was.

The cloaked assassin dropped from the sky and landed heavily onto the bridge a few feet from the mob.

“What are they? They’re hideous!” Mr. Jennings cried from the crowd. No adult had the courage to step forward and help the children after both Viktor and the policeman were tossed off the bridge and into the air by the nine-foot beasts.

Peter calmly lifted the glass ball from his backpack that he’d received from Jacob and raised it up to the moonlight. It immediately absorbed a beam of white light that started to glow luminous colors.

The ball shone its effect on the forest, first with bright greens, and then purples and reds – each color a dazzling and beautiful spectacle. When the colorful light rested on ocean blue, Peter smashed the crystal ball inside the narrow gap on the bridge that separated the children from their assassins.

One of the assassins snickered at Peter’s seemingly feeble effort to keep them at bay.

Breathing heavily, the foul assassins traipsed near the gap to reach the boys.

“It is too late for their return,” growled the armored assassin, lifting his massive axe from his back. “His Majesty forbids it.”

The axe-wielding assassin stood at the edge of the bridge’s gap, causing pieces of gravel to fall below. Taking one step over the gap, the armored assassin hovered for a split second. “Prepare to perish, little sorcerer,” it said. Just then a loud noise rose up beneath it.

“After you. I insist,” teased Peter, as an enormous waterfall unleashed onto the assassin, shooting upward from the gap. The heavy showers soared toward the stars, surpassing the height of the magic oak tree and stalling the armored assassin in the middle of it. It was trapped.

“Into the tree!” Peter commanded.

Benjamin, Sebastian and Tommy looked on in disbelief as the tree’s roots morphed into a large doorframe with steps leading into it. The doorway took the shape of a mouth, revealing nothing but blackness inside it. Jagged teeth formed around its doorframe, ready to close and lock out any trespasser.

“It is pointless, you cannot protect them forever; sooner or later, they
will
be ours!” The armored assassin gurgled through the flowing water, thrashing his arms around in a fit of rage before throwing his massive axe through the watery trap. The axe flew dangerously close between the three boys and embedded itself into the magic oak tree that gave out a long deep moan of pain.

“Cross over! Trust me!” Peter pleaded to the frightened boys.

Benjamin was the first to act. He took a quick breath and braced himself to dive into the tree’s very core, only too eager to leave the chaos behind him. As he entered, white light beamed out of the gateway. Once Benjamin vanished, the light faded back to darkness. Sebastian followed, giving out a loud scream the second he jumped.

The entire mob fled out of the woods in terror, all but one, whose obsessive taste for revenge clouded his better judgement. Using the forest’s thicket for his hiding spot, Mr. Jennings skulked behind.

Once the cloaked assassin took flight, it flew its way around the bridge and went straight for Peter, ready to strike with its needle-like weapon. Peter jumped onto the remaining wall of the half standing bridge to gain high ground.

“Thomas, go through the gateway,” Peter yelled, avoiding the constant strikes from the giant cloaked assassin.

“Go ahead, go through. It will only make it easier for us to catch you on the other side, anyway,” threatened the cloaked assassin.

Ignoring the assassin’s threat, Tommy took a deep breath and prepared himself to run into the gateway. He managed to get an inch away from the gateway when his pace was broken and halted by a swift tackle to the ground. Scrapping fingers wrapped around his neck tightly, causing pain to shoot through his whole body.

“Remember me, you little cricket?” Mr. Jennings yelled into the boy’s face as he squeezed his throat.

His enormous grip was strong for a man so deathly thin, and his breath was putrid. He squeezed tighter, digging his filthy nails into the back of Tommy’s neck. Tommy felt his windpipe closing speedily as he struggled to fight him off.

“Now, Thomas Joel,” Mr. Jennings muttered, “You’ll meet the same end as that gullible sod, George Johnston.”

You murderer,
Tommy thought. Was he lying? Or was the old principal so cruel that he was capable of murder? Of course he was.

“Troublemaker! You’re all trouble–," Mr. Jennings began when he was unexpectedly lifted up and propelled high into the air by one of the nine-foot assassins. The armored assassin had broken through Peter’s reversed waterfall spell and stood directly over Tommy.

But something stopped the assassin from striking this time. Brambles, branches and intertwining twigs sprouted out from the ground beneath the magical oak tree, protecting Tommy from his deadly assassin.

The tree’s branches began hitting and tearing at the armored assassin, preventing its unrelenting attacks. More branches removed the giant axe the assassin had embedded into the tree’s trunk. Holding the armored assassin firmly in place, the oak tree generously returned the weapon to its owner, swinging the assassin’s axe back at him as hard as its branches could swing. The axe flew at great force toward the giant assassin, lobbing him into the air far from Tommy. But the assassin’s armor was so resilient that the oak tree’s swing only made a slight dent in the assassin’s chest plate.

Tommy ran back and stood in front of the large tree-like mouth, when he caught a glimpse of Peter battling the cloaked assassin in the distance.

Peter dodged the attacks impulsively and carefully with surprising effortlessness. His small stature gave him good speed and balance. The cloaked assassin tried desperately to connect his weapon with Peter, but failed in every attempt. Peter used the remaining bridge walls and woodland around him to back flip and summersault over and through each swipe, using several chances to kick the beast’s chest and clip its shoulders.

Peter battled the cloaked assassin into the path of the reversed waterfall. The spell had reached the last ounce of its magic and came crashing back down upon the rubble, casting the cloaked assassin adrift when the bridge finally split in two and fell into the current. Tucking his large dagger into its pouch at his side, Peter walked over to Tommy, steadily and with ease.

“Are you hurt?” Peter asked with great concern.

“Just a little,” Tommy replied, rubbing the bruises on his throat where Mr. Jennings had tried to strangle him.

“If you don’t do what I say, from here on in, it
will
cost you your life,” Peter warned, giving Tommy a hard look.

Wolves started to howl in the far distance, meaning only one thing: they were on the prowl. Peter pointed to the mouth-like gateway at the tree’s root. Its broken bits of wood that resembled rows of pointed teeth made Tommy feel uneasy, until a glorious warm light shone out at them.

“Time to go home,” Peter said, leading the surviving Gatesville runaway through the gateway. Tommy took one glance back at the old world he was about to leave behind, long enough to see the cloaked assassin rising out from the deep waters, forever on the hunt for him.

Mr. Jennings awoke to the rumbling of the ground that shook apart the earthly pit he’d landed in. He was sure he had broken a bone or two. Wet leaves and muck covered his lanky body. His pain and discomfort angered him further. In one desperate attempt, he tried to lift himself up out of the pit, but his weakened state wouldn’t allow it. Falling onto his back, Mr. Jennings started screaming in agony, unknowingly alerting the remaining predators of the forest that howled in response.

“Help me! Somebody!” he cried repeatedly in between his grunts and moaning.

Something drew near. The sounds of the wolves’ movements and howling ceased as if they’d suddenly evaporated in the mist.

Five wolves silently scavenged, in stealth-like coordination, crawling beside him, until the leader claimed its territory above his head. Mr. Jennings knew they’d found him when he felt warm heavy breaths tickle the few hairs on the back of his balding head. A few crows nested on the towering branches above, goggling down at him, awaiting their meal of leftovers after the inevitable attack. The eyes of the wolves reflected the shimmering light of the moon. Six lights twinkled out of the darkness, revealing three of the wild beasts.

Mr. Jennings couldn’t contain his fear any longer and started to weep loudly. Soon, other wolves gathered, snapping at one another over their dinner.

“Please, I don’t want to die like this,” he cried, after one wolf seized the moment and dared to be the first of the pack to take a bite, sinking its razor sharp white fangs into Mr. Jennings’ ankle. His screams were so high pitched they could have been heard over half of Warwickshire.

“Get off, beast!” he screamed, springing to a sitting position.

The rumbling grew louder. Then the two nine-foot assassins marched through the forest toward him, trampling everything in their path. The wolves shifted their attention away from Mr. Jennings to gaze upon the giant assassins. The leader of the pack instinctively bared its teeth at the approaching threat.

Mr. Jennings looked around for any sign of the angry mob he’d led into the forest before realizing their disloyalty was certain. He’d been left to die, to be eaten by wild beasts or something worse.

The leader of the wolf pack charged at the armored assassin to protect his meal. Without much effort (a tap really), the assassin brushed the wolf away from its sight as a human would a fly. The injured wolf fell down and limped into the woods, swiftly followed by the rest of its pack. Mr. Jennings was left to face the deadlier assassins alone.