"Sweet mola.s.ses, Helga. I understand what you're trying to say, but I'd like to know the words anyhow. I feel like I'm onto something here, and I think I can handle it. You just gotta trust me on this."

Helga and Mosley looked at each other, shrugged, and then moved a few steps away. Mosley whispered as he reached up with his rear paw to scratch the back of his neck, "This is either going to be a pleasant experience, or a disaster. I'm not sure how you should judge her growth. She's already able to lead a pack of her own. I think you should allow her to keep going until she marks the boundaries of her magical territories."

"Agreed," Helga whispered back. "That's the smartest thing you've said all Peak, mutt. I'll protect us just in case." The older sorceress waved her hand, and an invisible wall of force encircled them.

Shalee queried, "So, are you going to tell me the words?"

"Torina is for wood and coa is for life, Child. I ask you, again. Think. This isn't the best idea."

"Gotcha! I know how you feel. But I want to know my limitations, so let's see where my line is drawn in the sand."

"Okay, Child, but I think we can look for this line on some other Peak. You should rest first."

"I'll be okay. Don't you worry about me. I can handle a little failure."

Helga looked at Mosley. "She is not going to listen until she finds a wall to run into."

Mosley nodded.

Shalee thought for a moment, and then a smile spread across her face. Remembering something Sam had said when they were in the Temple of the G.o.ds, she uttered, "This should be cool. I know no one has ever seen something like this around these parts." She lifted her staff and spoke in a forceful tone, "Precious, torina nuar coa!"

The remaining pieces of wood jumped off the floor and formed a small being shaped like her favorite childhood character, Elmo, from Sesame Street. The wooden creature had a coat made of an intense fiery fur, and it moved as if it was alive.

As Elmo started to dance, Shalee antic.i.p.ated the intense reward she would receive for success, but it never came. Something was wrong. Fiery Elmo stopped and turned to look at Shalee. With a sad expression on his face, he exploded, sending a shockwave through the room. The wave hit Shalee so hard her body lifted from the floor and flew through the air like a rag doll thrown by an angry child. She hit one of the load bearing columns at the center of the room. The collision knocked her shoulder out of joint.

Landing on the floor, Shalee's arm twisted beneath her weight. It snapped and made a loud cracking sound that could be heard in the alley beyond the hole in the wall. Her screams caused the patrons who were standing on the porch of the slaughter house beyond the exploded barrel to turn and look.

Helga's reaction was instantaneous. She darted out of the room to fetch a healer from the local vestry, shouting over her shoulder, "Mosley, put the child to sleep!"

The wolf breathed on Shalee's face and sent her into a peaceful sleep.

Sam's Training Continues BJ beat on Sam after Mosley disappeared across the field. The wolf had called Sam a "fool" and this bothered Sam. The instructor was delivering hard lessons to multiple areas of Sam's anatomy, hitting his student on the head on three occasions, his lower back four, upper back twice, chest eight, both arms a combined seventeen, and Sam's feet had been swept from under him on seven occasions.

BJ extended his hand to pick Sam up off the ground yet again. The novice swordsman had fallen hard this moment. Not only did he fall, but his stave had been taken from him before he landed, adding further insult to his numerous bruises.

The teacher shouted, "I told you to watch your balance when you're moving in to strike! You're leaving yourself wide open, and this will get you killed! A weapon won't be the only tool your opponent will use against you. His hands, his feet, his legs, his elbows, and even his head are all harbingers of death."

The teacher took a few steps back. "Now get up, mind your balance, and be ready for anything. I swear to the G.o.ds, I feel like I'm teaching a child of only five seasons."

Sam was frustrated, but he was not about to admit it or quit. They kept at it for a while longer, and after a few more trips to the ground, Sam held up his right hand and motioned for BJ to stop.

"Are you yielding?" BJ jeered.

"h.e.l.l no," Sam reb.u.t.ted. "Just give me a moment." He limped over to where his sword was lying and picked it up. Sam bent to one knee and whispered to the blade. "I have a name for you."

Before anything else could be said, the ground started to tremble. The quake lasted for nearly 15 breaths before it stopped. Sam found BJ's eyes. It was clear his mentor had never been in an earthquake before, and a look of confusion consumed his face.

"You've never been in an earthquake, have you?" Sam said as he stood to buckle the belt holding his sword around his waist.

Sam's weapon was the first to respond. The blade removed itself from its sheath and hovered in front of Sam's face. Like before, the blade pulsated with a soft-white light as each syllable was uttered. "BJ doesn't know what you're referring to, Sam. Perhaps you should follow me so that we can converse."

Sam did as instructed and waited for the blade to continue. "The people on Grayham have never experienced natural disasters before. The G.o.ds have not used them as a way of controlling the worlds' populations. The worlds don't have enough beings on them to justify their use. This quake is a result of the Crystal Moon's inability to govern the worlds."

"What can be done about it?" Sam queried.

As if irritated by Sam's question, the blade's pulse turned red. "You must focus, Sam. You must rise up and become a better man than you are now if you're to save the worlds. The moments of destruction are looming, and these people will need a champion."

A period of silence pa.s.sed as the blade allowed the magnitude of his statement to sink in. When next it spoke, his pulse had returned to white. "You said you've chosen a name for me. What is it, Sam?"

Sam's mind was struggling to accept the sword's revelation. It was not until after the blade thumped him under his chin that he was able to focus. "Okay, okay. Ummm ... I was going to use the name, Kael. Would this be acceptable to you? It means, Mighty Warrior."

The sword sighed. "Kael is a strong name, but a leader should be confident in his decisions. I've given you permission to train with me. Act like the leader you need to become, and do not seek my approval. Demonstrate your ability to command." Again, the blade's pulse turned red. "Until you do, I won't allow you to fight with me in the arenas. You need to earn my respect, and you must acquire the skills necessary to keep from embarra.s.sing me. I'd rather allow this world to end than be wielded by weakness."

Sick of being chastised, Sam took control of the sword and then turned to face BJ. He knew he could not divulge the Crystal Moon's lack of governance over the worlds, so he shouted, "I've given my sword a name! It's Kael! It means, Mighty Warrior!" He lifted the sword and took an offensive stance. "Let's see how you handle this!" He pointed the tip of the blade at his teacher.

BJ did not respond. Instead, he remained focused on the ground.

Sam thought, This isn't good. I need to get his mind off the tremor. I have to work harder.

Sam shouted again to capture BJ's attention. "Come on! Everything's alright! I've been in places where the ground shook on many occasions. It's not a big deal. Hey! I said I've named my sword. Let's see how you handle the power of the G.o.ds, old man!"

Hearing the words, "old man", BJ shook his head and walked to his bag. He lowered his wooden stave and picked up his blade. "This sword has seen many seasons of battle, boy. You need to be taught humility."

BJ wiped the sword's hilt with a towel and then discarded the rag to the ground. Without a word, he lunged and knocked Kael out of Sam's hand. A quick swipe followed. The tip of his blade was all it took to cut across Sam's left thigh, just deep enough to draw blood and require st.i.tches.

"d.a.m.n it!" Sam shouted as he looked down at the cut. "What did you do that for? You're supposed to train me ... not kill me!"

BJ's voice was firm, "Just because you hold a sword of the G.o.ds doesn't mean you understand how to wield the power it possesses! This isn't a game, boy! You'll get yourself killed if you enter the arena unprepared. Your stance is terrible, your balance is always off, your movements are slow, and your ears never listen. A pregnant corgan would be a better student than you."

BJ gathered his things. "I cannot believe where you're from they call you a fighter. In all my seasons, I've never had a worse student. We should get moving before it gets dark. I'm hungry and need an ale. If Mosley wasn't paying me a substantial sum of coin, I would terminate my agreement to train you."

The teacher chucked Sam a roll of cloth. "Put this bandage on your leg. I'll st.i.tch you up when we get back to the inn. Dusk is approaching, and we have a lengthy walk."

Sam did not respond. Instead, he started wrapping his leg.

BJ continued to grumble. "You might want to keep a supply of bandages in your pack. I have a special mud the Merchant Angels delivered from the healers on Harvestom. I'll put it on your st.i.tches, and you'll heal enough by morning for us to continue. You better learn fast, because if you don't, you'll be an ugly man before I'm done with you."

It took a while to reach the village. The walk was quiet while Sam dealt with the wound to his ego. When they arrived, they went up to the room. When Sam opened the door, he saw Helga standing over Shalee with Mosley lying on the bed next to her.

Sam forgot about the pain in his leg and rushed to Shalee's side. As he looked her over, he scanned the splints the healers had placed on her arm. Satisfied that she was stable, he looked at Mosley. "What happened to her?"

"I should be asking you the same thing," Mosley responded as he sniffed the blood-soaked wrap on Sam's leg. "It appears you've learned a few lessons during your Peak of training. I cannot remember the last moment I saw a man with so many bruises. You look as if you've been dominated ... and you stink."

Sam looked at his upper body, which he had not bothered covering with a shirt. Smiling, he walked over to BJ and patted the trainer on the back. "I suppose that's the sign of a good teacher. BJ isn't very political with his verbal criticisms, but he'll break through this hard head of mine ... not literally, I hope. Swordplay is new to me, but I swear I'll get it."

BJ grunted, "Shut up! There are no politics in battle, only men who fight, live or die. Take a seat on the bed before I knock you down. I don't have all Peak to st.i.tch you up." The teacher pulled a needle made of bone and some thread out of his bag.

Sam removed the items from BJ's hands. "I already know how to do this, but I could use some of that mud you told me about. I'll be ready in the morning."

BJ tossed Sam the mud and then threw his bag over his shoulder. "See you bright and early then. I'm going to troblet you thoroughly in the morning. Sleep on that." He left the room.

Sam frowned, cleaned his wound and grunted during each pa.s.s the needle made as it pierced his skin. Once finished, he applied the mud and wrapped his leg with clean bandages before he turned his attention back to the wolf. "Mosley, what happened to her? How long will she sleep?"

Mosley stood and headed for the door. "I'll return soon," he said as he left the room without answering Sam's question.

Stunned by the wolf's demeanor, Sam moved gingerly across the room to pour himself a gla.s.s of water as Helga excused herself to return to her school.

Sam pulled a chair to the window and sat down after blowing out the lamp. In the darkness, he stared at the flickering torches lighting the streets below for a short series of moments before he lowered his head into the palms of his hands. The emotions of his new life overwhelmed him. He was bruised, battered and beaten, physically and emotionally. Try as he might, he was unable to hold back the tears.

How could he possibly put on a strong face for Shalee in the morning? He missed his old life. He was practically a king there. But, more than that, he missed his family, no matter how irritating his father was.

It crossed his mind to pray for strength, but his G.o.d was said to no longer exist, and that made the notion of prayer pointless. He was now a small fish in an enraged sea called Grayham, and this sea was filled with unknown enemies that would be lining up in front of him.

More than one tear stained the floor before Sam drifted off to sleep with his head still in his hands.

Ba.s.sORINE is still looking for Lasidious, and his anger continues to build.

THE G.o.d OF MISCHIEF is watching part of his overall plan fall into place. Celestria and Lasidious have finished some last-moment plotting inside their home. Both G.o.ds will head out to put these plans in motion.

HELGA stopped at the healers' vestry. She instructed them to check on Shalee in the morning. She needs to clean up the mess the young sorceress made during training. The explosion left many of the mattresses and walls charred.

THE OTHER G.o.dS are in the Hall of Judgment, home of the Book of Immortality, located on the hidden G.o.d world called Ancients Sovereign. They are speaking with the Book about their options. They want Lasidious to come to a meeting and put an end to Ba.s.sorine's annoying rant. Ba.s.sorine's anger has become taxing, and their patience with Lasidious is running thin. However, the Book can only remind them that Lasidious has free will, and he may show up whenever he pleases.

Thank you for reading this edition of the Grayham Inquirer

CHAPTER 12.

Here Kitty, Kitty HOURS BEFORE SAM'S TEARS flowed, George awoke on the bank of the Cripple River. He jumped up when the alarm on his Rolex went off and once again hurried toward his destination. His muscles were tight, and every joint ached, but he pressed on, wanting to arrive before nightfall, or at least shortly thereafter.

To the northeast, a mountain range extended as far as he could see. George looked at his map. The mountains started near the Pool of Sorrow. He was certain he was getting close, and his excitement was building. One more look at his route showed the Pa.s.s of Tears to be east of the pool, and it was this pa.s.s that would lead him to the Cave of Sorrow.

As he worked his way north, George sensed something was wrong. He felt he was being watched, or worse, followed. With each casual glance toward the edge of the forest, he saw nothing. Yet something inside him knew he was being stalked. He could feel it.

He increased his pace. Just focus on getting to the pool, he thought, reminding himself of his goal to find the supposed map and the staff. Just focus.

Jason had said the pool was where he would find the tree with the boulder under it. Beneath the boulder would be the map-if there really was one-and on it, the location of the staff inside the cave.

Try as he might to focus on the journey and the prize that awaited, he could still feel the presence of something lingering in the forest. It was keeping pace with him, and worse, it remained hidden in the shadows and out of sight.

Don't look, dumb a.s.s, he thought. You can't give whatever it is the impression that you know it's there.

When George finally reached his destination, he discovered what everyone called a pool was, in reality, a huge lake-one so wide he could not see the other side. But the size had been reduced to something far smaller in his mind because of its name.

Under normal circ.u.mstances, George would have taken the moments necessary to enjoy the scenery, but instead, he had to figure out how to deal with his Peeping Tom. He could sense whomever-or whatever-was still watching. The feeling was unnerving. He knew, or at least he felt he knew, it would not be long before something would happen. He did not know why, but the alarm in his head was screaming he was in danger, and he had to fight to keep his wits.

Studying the area where the lake and river joined, he noticed a line of ma.s.sive rocks that created a path that crossed the outlet. The stones spanning the distance could not have been positioned more perfectly, even if they had been placed by a set of giant hands.

Calculating the distance to be about 150 feet or more from start to finish, he made his way to the first stone of the crossing. As he did, he reached around and pulled his pack off his back.

Climbing to the top of the first boulder, George studied its large, flattened surface. The rock was easily more than 18 feet long and half as wide. After observing the torrent water that pa.s.sed between the first and second stones, he knelt.

From the shadows of the forest, two yellowish-brown eyes tracked every movement the human made. The sun was sinking below the horizon, and the moment for the beast to make his move was approaching. Beneath his fur, powerful muscles rippled, antic.i.p.ating the satisfaction of closing the distance between his kill and his place of hiding.

Rising from his crouched position, George looked beyond the outlet. There was a drastic drop in elevation that caused a temporary lapse in concentration. The movement of the water was fierce and created a powerful sound. He shook his head and turned his attention to the rock beyond. Jumping seemed possible, yet intimidating. The gushing torrent would kill him if he fell, but if he did not jump, he would be left vulnerable to whatever was stalking him.

George removed a torch from his pack and lit it with an old cigarette lighter he had in his pocket when he was taken from Earth. He tossed the torch to the rock beyond to offer additional light to the landing area, counted to three and then jumped.

When he landed, he collapsed, cried out and grabbed his right ankle. He rolled into a seated position and removed his boot. Keeping the corner of his eye on the forest and his head lowered, his face was unable to hide his anguish. He was sure that whatever was stalking him could see the concern on his face, and his weakness had to be penetrating the dusk like a beacon.

He rubbed his ankle, put his boot back on, wincing as he did, and tied it tight for support. He stood and tried to take a step, careful not to put too much weight on his foot. But he fell again and grabbed his ankle. Reacting like a wounded animal, he groaned as he fought the urge to scream.

As the sun split the horizon, shadows lengthened. Then, as if a switch had been turned on, a loud, horrifying roar filled the air. Out of the forest, a large, dark figure made its way toward him-slowly at first, then faster as the beast began to run.

George hobbled to his feet, put his weight on his good leg, and then clenched both fists. His heart pounded out of control as the thumping footsteps grew louder. Once the beast was close enough, it launched into the air. But before the monstrosity could land on the first stone, George corrected his posture and balanced his weight on both perfectly good ankles. Man, I hope this works, he thought. His injury, a ruse to flush out his attacker, was no longer needed. Raising his right hand, he screamed, "Stop!"

The beast landed on the first stone and prepared for his final spring that would send him crashing into his prey. His legs uncoiled, but three of his four paws remained trapped on the stone. The weight of the beast's upper body continued forward as his free paw bridged the gap. The cat swiped at George's legs, grazing one of them with his claw and sending the human spinning toward the edge of the stone he was standing on.

The unbreakable spell of the snare scroll George had used on the first stone when he knelt caused the beast's weight to pendulum forward into its surface. The creature's face smashed into the boulder before the rest of his body. One of his legs, his neck, and the lower portion of his jaw crunched on impact, filling the air with horrid cracking sounds.

Despite the beast's advance being halted, the damage had been done. George's legs had been swiped from under him, and he was now dangling from one of the jagged protrusions of the boulder's exposed face above the unforgiving rapids that crashed against the rocks below. He struggled to pull himself up, the rough edges of the stone were cutting into his forearms. It took every last ounce of his strength to save himself, and as he got his leg up and over the edge, he rolled over the top to safety.

With George's chest heaving to catch his breath, the ma.s.sive creature let out a cry of pain so deafening that he had to cover his ears. George stood and retrieved his torch. Looking down at his leg, he noticed the lower portion of his right pant leg had been shredded. The material was saturated and blood was flowing from three gashes that had opened on the outside of his calf. The wounds were wide, but not too deep. The beast's claws had hit their mark and his leg burned like h.e.l.l.

George reached for his pack, rifled through it and searched for anything to stem the flow of blood. There was nothing other than his Gucci shirt. d.a.m.n it! I should have thought about first aid, he thought.

He ripped the left sleeve off the garment and used it as a tourniquet, but the flow was too much. He tore off the right sleeve, and still the cloth was not enough. He needed another plan.

"d.a.m.n it!" he muttered. He turned to look at the torch. "I can't believe this. This is gonna suck."

After removing the saturated sleeves from his leg, he reached under his opposite pant leg and pulled a dagger free of its sheath. He held the blade in the flame until he was sure the steel was hot enough. He took a deep breath and placed the glowing surface on top of each gash to cauterize the wounds. His skin sizzled and his hair singed. His screams and the smell of cooked flesh filled the air as he christened the rocks with the undigested remains of his meager dinner that he consumed while working his way to the pool.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and turn his attention back to his injuries. He held the torch close. He had not gotten it all. A portion of the middle gash was still bleeding. He lifted his head toward the sky and shouted his disgust, "You've got to be freaking kidding me!"

He took a few deep breaths between curses, and then he placed the blade against his skin again. He suffered until he was sure the cauterization was complete.

It took many long moments to calm his nerves, but eventually, he turned his attention toward his attacker. Although the failing light made it hard to tell, George could see the sheer size of the ma.s.sive feline.

The cat was enormous, and his moans filled the deepening blackness. With each cry, shivers crept down George's spine, and it was a long series of moments before his battered nerves allowed for clear thought. He crawled to the edge of his rock to get a closer look, biting down as he suffered through the shooting pain his movements caused.

The giant cat's free paw lifted to strike, but the pain the movement caused forced the beast to retract its primal weapon. A single claw grazed the surface of the rock. That was all it took. The magic trapped the limb.

George realized the beast was immobilized. After a few erratic swings with his torch to entice another strike, he was sure the creature was safely bound. This newfound confidence gave him the courage to get a closer look. Holy h.e.l.l, he thought as he leaned out across the gap as far as he could. That d.a.m.n thing has got to be about 18 feet long.