The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure) (4 page)

Dagonblud scooped Nura up by her claws and dangled her upside-down. Staring into her golden eyes, he noticed a few small teardrops trickling down, onto the stone floor.
“Tears?
Really, Nura, so unbecoming of the power you once possessed.”

Dagonblud turned the delicate animal around by her claws, admiring her from every angle. “I know what will cheer you up. Your so-called scientists have finally discovered my world in the universe. Can you imagine?
After all this time.
I’d say they’re a little late to the party, but no matter, I must compliment them on the name--‘dark energy.’ I rather like that, but they have yet to uncover the substance that makes up most of the universe. Perhaps I’ll present a name change to the grand assembly. The Tolucan will now be called the Dark Energy. What do you think?”

Dagonblud looked at the bleary-eyed creature again. Her tears had formed a puddle at his feet.
“Still not happy?
Ehh, there’s no pleasing you,” he said, dumping her on the cold stone. “Your scientists are all numbskulls. I discovered your world. Do you remember that? Of course you do. The explosions in your sky were stupendous.”

Dagonblud placed his hand on Nura’s perch again. Twenty-five hundred years before, he had ripped into the fabric of her world and discovered the power of a million suns. The fire was still burning below them, but tonight the light would be extinguished, and her world would fall once and for all.

“Ickbarr!
Where is that tea?” Impatient, Dagonblud turned and snatched Nura up by her neck, squeezing her airway until she gagged. “Open the mirror! I have more power than even the largest star, and I’m surrounded by mindless fleas.” He turned and shouted down the stairs.
“Ickbarr!”

The griffin dangled in Dagonblud’s fist. He raised her limp body higher and shook her.
“Enough drama, Nura.
If I meant to kill you, you’d already be dead. Now let’s get on with it. Open the mirror.”

The creature flew toward the mirror and then fluttered her wings over the surface as though she were erasing the reflection but instead revealing an open door. Beyond the opening, a vast chamber appeared--the chamber of lost human history.

Nura flew into the enormous room and around every collected relic, the world’s greatest missing treasures: Galileo’s telescope, King Tut’s scepter, and Amelia Earhart’s flying jacket . . . The chamber brimmed with objects from every part of the globe, but two golden podiums in the center of the room stood empty.

“Ickbarr!”
Dagonblud shouted.
“Ickbarr!
The coriane!”

“Coming, sir!”

“Now!”

The worn little man scrambled into the cold, forbidding chamber, spilling some of the rare drink again before he knelt in front of the imperial regent.
“Your coriane, sir.”

“Does quickly mean nothing to you?” Dagonblud sloshed back the tea. “Get up.”

“Yes, sir.”
Ickbarr stood and bowed his head.

Dagonblud flipped open a square, gilded pocket watch. “Has this tempus been checked?”

“Yes, sir, accurate to the second.”

“Good.” Dagonblud closed the ancient timepiece. “We’re on schedule. That fool Price will wish he never existed.”

Dagonblud hurried around his treasures and stopped at an enormous gray wall at the far end of the room. Thousands of knives hung from iron pegs.
Daggers, machetes, swords, scimitars, and cutlasses.
Nearby, rifles and cannons lined the wall. Some were old, and others new, but no weapon was as dangerous as the black diamond named Atomic Number Six.

The stone was about the size of a human heart, with black crystalline facets defusing smoke-colored light through the transparent darkness. Dagonblud’s long, muscular fingers reached beyond the armory and carefully plucked the black diamond from its perch.

Atomic Number Six contained the dark matter of the Tolucan world--black energy filled with hate, misery, and wickedness . . . evil rolled together like the waste of demons. The icy stone felt good in his hands, strong and reliable, like the force it possessed.

But nothing was more intoxicating than the thought of consuming the power of the Rellium.

Dagonblud stared at the weapon--so small, so potent, and yet nearly destroyed by a Wyatt.

The Wyatts are nothing, he thought, and their strength is even less.

A twist of the diamond to the right and left separated its sides and exposed black particles suspended in the hollowed-out center, as though an evil fruit had been halved, with black seeds floating inside its core.

Ickbarr turned away, covering his nose and mouth with his hand. Dagonblud knew the stench from the particles was offensive, poisonous, and disgusting, but it amused him to see Ickbarr’s nausea well up each time the black diamond was opened.

“Breathe, you fool. You must respect and honor this stone. Do you know what it means to be in the presence of such a destructive weapon?”

Ickbarr nodded, still holding his breath.

Dagonblud rubbed his thumb over the facets in the stone, waiting for the particles to choke off all the light in the room. What a beautiful gem, forever igniting battles and plagues and genocides. The stone burned hatred in his hand. It felt good, exhilarating. The Tolucan Grand Assembly glorified the power of the stone, but no one knew its true force except for Dagonblud and, of course, the Wyatts.

Dagonblud inhaled the deadly air. The stench reminded him of Michael Wyatt’s last day on earth. Very fitting, he thought, since this would also be the last day for the son of the greatest sapphire traveler. He closed the sides of the black diamond. Light slowly returned to the chamber but not without a final explosion of stink from the weapon.

The regent brushed off the black ash left on his skin from touching the stone. Atomic ash, as it was called, burned like fire until every particle was wiped away, but the discomfort was well worth it. As long as Dagonblud had the stone, the ability to destroy the future was within his grasp. He worshiped violence; it consumed him. Tonight the universe was his, and he’d finally inherit more power than even he could imagine.

“Your Excellency,” Ickbarr began, trying to dodge Nura fluttering around his head. “Perhaps the Wyatt boy has not yet acquired the skills of a sapphire traveler. You could steal the chronicle’s force quite easily then, perhaps without using the black diamond.”

“What do you mean, steal?” Dagonblud smoothed back his graying raven mane. “I’m taking back what’s mine. Now get me more tea.”

“Yes, sir.”
Ickbarr backed out of the chamber.

Dagonblud breathed in the last of the stench left by the particles and rested his stinging hand on the empty golden podium. The Chronicle of the Rellium would never have influence over humanity again, true, but nothing would be more satisfying than completely eliminating the Wyatt legacy. Once the coriane tea took full effect, he’d be ready for the journey to destroy the last Wyatt.

CHAPTER 3

THE PARABULLS

At thirteen, Blake was way past believing in any of that fairytale crap. What difference would it make if he opened the book? Nothing was going to happen. Hugo Price was probably some lunatic, and this bizarre book was most likely dug up at some yard sale. It was really cool looking, but definitely weird.

He gazed down at a random page. The letters were shiny silver, sort of like a mirror, but he could still read the words--something about Christopher Columbus, nothing important. Then the words lit up and changed color, glowing as if each one had its own battery. Then the thing went nuts, flooding the classroom with megawatt power, like someone had cranked up the lights at the football field. Blake squinted, trying to focus on the source of the lights, but bright, Technicolor streaks darted from wall to wall, zooming and zipping past his face and making whizzing noises like an electric guitar in hyper speed.

He reeled and covered his eyes. Was it radioactive? Was it contaminating him and his school? He should’ve listened to that old guy and not opened the stupid thing! He snapped the cover closed before the whole school became one giant, nuclear spotlight. The intense brightness immediately sucked back into the book as airy tings jingled like the wind chimes in his neighbor’s backyard.

Then silence.

“Whoa!” Blake circled the chronicle and skimmed the cover with his palm. It felt sort of warm, and the jewels stuck to it still glowed. His hand vibrated and tickled when he touched the book. Why hadn’t his mother ever told him about this or Uncle Leopold? And who was that Hugo Price guy anyway?

The tickle now felt like an electrical current. It was weird, but it didn’t hurt. For some reason it almost felt normal. But then it started to burn slightly. He tried pulling back his hand, but he couldn’t. Chimes sounded in his ears.

The crazed book fluttered its pages and lifted Blake off the floor. “Hey! What the--? Someone help me!” Breakfast rose to the back of his throat. Cereal, milk, toast--the whole thing was about to hurl.

“Relax, Blakemore. You must learn to trust me.” It was a woman’s voice, warm and kind.

“Who said that?” Nausea roiled in his throat.

“Please, shed your doubt, Blakemore Michael Wyatt. There’s no need to question my motives.”

“Help!”
Blake shouted in the empty classroom, trying every twist, pull, and jerk to free
himself
. He continued to float toward the ceiling. “Stop this stupid thing!”

Blake used his other hand to try to break the book’s grip on him, but that didn’t work. It wouldn’t stop climbing, and it was gaining speed.

As he drifted above a bank of suspended fluorescent lights, he spotted a pencil he had flung up there two weeks before. Maybe he could use it to break the bond. He stretched as far as he could,
sending
dust over the edge, willing his arm to be longer. His fingertips nudged the pencil just enough to send it rolling off the light fixture. He saw it bounce off a desk far below him.

He wanted to yell every bad word he knew and even make up a few more, but there was no time for that. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable impact with the ceiling, but the book stopped just short of smashing his hand through water-stained acoustic tiles. He slowly opened his eyes and peered down at the desks.

“Son of a--”

“Curse words? Really, Blakemore, only those with the language skills of a whistle pig would grunt out such vulgarities.”

“Who said that?”

“Do you not know better words with which to express yourself?”

“Who’s talking?”

“Once those ugly words are sent into the world, their filth is very difficult to retrieve.”

“Who are you?”

“Clearly you do not understand your duty, Blakemore. Please forgive me for what I am about to do.”

He twisted as far as his suspended hand would take him, examining every corner of the book. “Where are you?”

“Up here.”

“Are you like a ghost or something?”

He heard a chuckle. “No, Mr. Wyatt, at least not the kind you’re thinking of.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking of?”

“Please, time is short. You must trust me before the connection can be made.”

“Help!”

“Again, forgive me for this unusual examination you’re about to take, but it is absolutely essential for the connection.”

“What examination and what connection?”

The book moved again, slowly circling the classroom.

“Hey, wait,” Blake said, struggling to keep his untied shoes on his feet. One dropped as soon as the book went into high gear, shot through the open window, and headed straight toward the sky, taking Blake with it.

Soon the school looked like a shrinking speck in a green field. “Whoa!” he shouted.
“Stop!”

They moved faster, darting left and right. Blake lost his other shoe. They jetted miles away, flying dangerously close to the roof of Blake’s house.

“Aah!” He forced his free hand toward the freaky book and grabbed it, wrapping all five fingers around the hot, gold binding, trying to steady the maniac text. Then it rolled, turning him over and over like a sock in a dryer. “Staaahwp!” he yelled. “I’m serious! I’m gonna yak!”

“Are you ready now?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just stop!”

The book ended the ride quietly, with Blake hanging high above his house. The electrical current running through his body lost its voltage, and his hand, suddenly unstuck, slid easily off the cover. He quickly grabbed the edge. “Oh, crap,” he said, looking down.

“Let go, Blakemore,” the book told him.

“Are you nuts?” he yelled, digging his fingertips into the cover. “I’ll end up sidewalk pizza!”

“Trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t even know who you are! Or what you are!” Blake wiggled his hands to get a better grip. He could feel the muscles quiver in his hands.

“It is essential to the--”

“Yeah, yeah, I
know,
the connection.”

“Let go, Blakemore. We must complete this test quickly. We’re running out of time.”

Sweat pooled under Blake’s fingertips. He had no choice. He had to trust the book. Taking a long, deep breath, he closed his eyes, peeled off one hand and then the other, and waited to plunge to the ground.

Nothing happened.

Blake opened his eyes. He was still alive. He wasn’t even falling. He was floating high above his house.

“Oh, man, this is totally awesome!”

The book drifted in front of him and shimmered brightly. “Welcome to the Rellium, Blakemore Michael Wyatt. You’ve passed your first test.”

“How am I doing this?” he asked.

“It’s the power of the Rellium. Every cell in your body has been transformed. The Rellium has identified you as a Wyatt. Do you feel any different?”

“I’m floating above my house. Um, yeah, I guess you can say I feel different.”

“But do you feel the Rellium?”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Close your eyes. What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Wait. There is something . . . two bulldogs with blue grass around them.”

“Good. Follow me.”

“How?”
He looked across the treetops of his neighborhood.

“Just walk. We must hurry.” The book zoomed back toward the school.

“Hey, wait, don’t leave me here.” Soon he was running through the air. “This is so totally cool!” He air-ran toward Trevor’s house.

“Please, Mr. Wyatt, we do not have time for visiting friends.” The book shot past him. “We’re in terrible danger.”

“How’d you know I was going to Trevor’s house?”

“We’re connected. Now, please, quickly.”

“Sure, no problem.
It’s just that I never flew before.”

The book raced toward the school.

“Hey, wait for me!” Blake caught up, covering several blocks in mere seconds. The book zipped ahead of him and glided back through the open window of his history classroom. He followed closely, barreling into a row of desks before crashing into the map of the state of California hanging on a wall.

“Whoa, gnarly entry.”
His hand had a hot, tingly feeling where the chronicle had been stuck to it. He noticed an image stamped squarely on his palm. It was brightly colored and looked like the pattern on the cover of the book: planets orbiting the sun. “Hey, what’s this?”

“Like your father before you, you are now part of the Rellium, Blakemore. Your legacy is part of every atom in your body. It’s who you are. That mark is called the Sign of the Ages. It’s an approval of sorts, granted by the Parabulls for your task. This privilege must be used wisely, but of course all sapphire travelers know about the powers they control.”

Blake stared at the intricate design on the palm of his right hand. It looked like a tattoo but much more vivid, much more real, as if it were in Hi Def. He tried to rub it off, but the design didn’t smear or even fade.

“Lady . . . or whatever you are, I don’t know about any powers.”

“Of course you do. The Sign of the Ages will be a permanent reminder of your stewardship of the Rellium. Your father knew this well, and he served the Rellium bravely and with honor--as will you.”

“You knew my father?”

“He understood the sacred connection like no other.”

Blake dropped his hand. “What sacred connection?”

“Without the past, Blakemore, there is no future.”

That substitute teacher--Hugo Price--had said the same thing. Blake looked at his palm again. Something was going on here, and it sure didn’t add up to anything normal. He glanced at the clock. The hands hadn’t moved since the bell rang. Maybe he fell asleep in class and was dreaming the whole thing.

“Okay. I know what’s going on. I’m going to wake up as soon as that bell rings and realize I slept through that whole boring class. But you feel free to knock yourself out. Since I’m still sleeping, I might as well enjoy the
ride,
maybe do some more of that flying stuff again.”

“You still do not believe?”

“I’m standing here talking to a book. It’s talking back! Oh, and I can run in the air, too!
Real?
Not a chance.”

“You are no longer an ordinary person, Blakemore. You’ve gained incredible abilities that can change the world forever.”

“Right,” he said.
“Me and Spiderman.”

Suddenly Hugo Price barged through the classroom door. The winded, frantic substitute
teacher clicked open
the tarnished cover of his pocket watch and mumbled something about a mutiny. “We have to go!”

“Slow down, big guy,” said Blake. “Go where?”