The Remembered Read online

  "Keep going," Ms. Abagail shouted, urging him onward with her shoulder.

  Wyatt pushed aside smaller clutter as he tried to keep low. He lost sight of Lucy for a moment, but then a Draygan landed at the spot he had last seen her, followed by a whirlwind of flame. Before Wyatt had time to call out, the slight girl with dirty blonde hair came hurrying back to him. Another crash was followed by a swirl of heat, and flames exploded on Wyatt's right. Then his left.

  "They're surrounding us," Wyatt said as Lucy reached him.

  Together, Wyatt, Lucy, and Ms. Abagail huddled beneath an oversized office desk. Lucy wrapped her arms around Wyatt and Ms. Abagail encapsulated both of them with hers.

  "What do we do?" Ms. Abagail whispered in Wyatt's ear.

  "We can't fight them," he said.

  "Don't you have magic powers or something? You've fought these things before, right?"

  "No," Lucy said before Wyatt could respond. "He gave his powers away, remember? That's why this is happening. It's his fault."

  Ms. Abagail groaned and pulled Wyatt and Lucy closer. Even without looking out from their crude shelter, Wyatt knew the Draygan warriors were slowly closing in on them. They were cutting and burning a path that would eventually lead to the trio's death.

  "It's going to be all right," Ms. Abagail said. "We're together and it's all going to be all right."

  Wyatt felt a new warmth sweep over his body. It wasn't from the Draygans, though they were transforming the room into a veritable inferno, but from something internal. He tried to come up with something equally as awe-inspiring to say when the floor shook violently. Everything in the room shifted, and Wyatt heard the Draygans call out in surprise. The assault stopped for a moment and all that could be heard was the crackle of flame and the rage of the thunderstorm beyond the room.

  Lightning flashed, bathing the room in blinding light. Thunder roared and the windows imploded. Though already under cover, Wyatt ducked his head against Lucy, hoping to shield her as Ms. Abagail did the same to him.

  Glass rained down on the room, and the floor shifted abruptly beneath them. Wyatt reached a hand to feel at the tile, finding instead a deep crack, wide enough to stuff his fingers into.

  "Uh oh," he said.

  Lucy shrieked and dropped, suddenly falling into empty air. Wyatt pulled at her as the floor broke around them.

  "Hold on, Lucy!" Wyatt yelled over the storm.

  Ms. Abagail held Wyatt's shoulders, and he could feel her pulling back on him, keeping Lucy from falling.

  "The floor's gone," Lucy screamed.

  "Just hold on," Wyatt shouted. He wiggled back, but they were still under the desk, and there was little space to maneuver.

  "Wyatt..." Ms. Abagail said.

  "Just hold on to me," he said, without looking back at her.

  Ms. Abagail screamed and Wyatt felt the pull on his shoulders intensify, wrenching him backwards. He hit the ground on his back. Luckily, his grip on Lucy held, and she was launched upward to land on his chest.

  "Wyatt!" Ms. Abagail yelled from just behind and below him. Her fingers dug into Wyatt's shoulders, and he didn't dare move lest she should fall into whatever abyss had opened beneath her.

  "You have to help pull her up," he said to Lucy.

  Lucy was trembling, but she nodded and crawled toward Wyatt's head. He twisted his face to the side as she lay on his head, pinching her knees into his hips as he wrapped her arms around hers.

  "I got her arms, but I can't pull her up," Lucy said.

  "Just hold on," Wyatt said.

  "I am," Lucy protested.

  "So, Wyatt," Ms. Abagail called out. "What now?"

  Wyatt couldn't move. He couldn't think.

  The floor trembled beneath him and completely gave way, sending Wyatt and his newfound family into the unknown.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WYATT LANDED ON something soft and warm. It cushioned his fall somewhat, but he still found the air lacking as he attempted to shout for Lucy and Ms. Abagail. He couldn't manage the words, so he merely pointed at the crumbling ceiling and flame-braided Draygans that dropped gracefully through the schism of whatever room Wyatt had fallen into. He was still going to die.

  Three Draygans made it into the room before the ceiling trembled and, in a blink, appeared whole. As the stone quivered back into place, the distant rumble of the storm broke off. In its place echoed the sizzle of magical fire-braids and a chorus of murmurs, like the mumbling of a stream.

  Wyatt eyed the enemy, wondering why they weren't coming further, instead hovering halfway between Wyatt and the high, vaulted ceiling.

  He heard Ms. Abagail curse and shift at his side. Wyatt turned and sat up in the same motion, and found himself staring at a room filled with dozens of men and women seated along heavy wooden tables piled high with food and drink. What had cushioned Wyatt's fall had been, in fact, a roast of some kind, a turkey, perhaps. He could no longer tell.

  All eyes were fixed on Wyatt and his companions. Then they slowly shifted upward, toward the still-hovering Draygans. Without command, weapons seemed to magically appear in every hand. Swords jabbed at the air, arrows nocked and stretched back on bowstrings. Armored men came from somewhere else, brandishing pikes and spears.

  The Draygans looked at each other uneasily, but still their braids burned, wrapped around their muscular arms.

  "Hold!" bellowed a deep voice from the head of the table Wyatt sat atop.

  Lucy grabbed at Wyatt's arm and Ms. Abagail scrambled toward them, scattering dishes and spilling goblets. "What is this?" she hissed, eyes painted wide and unblinking.

  Wyatt glanced around the room. "I think we fell through worlds," he whispered.

  "This is..." Ms. Abagail lost the words and paled—which for her was saying something.

  "How have you come here, foul creatures?" bellowed the heavily mustachioed man at the head of the table. He stood as he spoke, jabbing a finger at the Draygans. "What cursed magic is this to have brought you into our hall?"

  The Draygans stirred, but didn't respond.

  "You will answer me!" the man continued, pounding a fist on the table.

  The Draygans darted quick looks at the many blades and arrowheads aimed in their direction.

  Wyatt cleared his throat and shakily stood atop whatever fine dish he had destroyed by falling on it. The full attention of the room, and its many weapons, turned to Wyatt. Ms. Abagail tugged at the hem of his hospital gown. "What are you doing?"

  He waved off her plea and then held out his hands in greeting. "I can explain," he said.

  He waited for some response, received none, and so continued, "You see, my name is Wyatt the—just Wyatt. I used to have the power of a Druid. And this," he said, pointing at Lucy, "is my sister. She made this world."

  He received a response to that. Laughter. It rippled through the room and brought a fire to his cheeks.

  Lucy stood up next to him and shrilly shouted, "It's true!"

  That silenced the room once more.

  Wyatt made a show of smoothing out his hospital gown, which was more filth than not, and turned back to the man with the mustache wider than his face. "I know it makes no sense, but if you let me explain—"

  "What I want explained, boy," the man said, "is how you and your attack dogs infiltrated this place."

  Wyatt looked up at the Draygans, having momentarily forgotten they were there. "Oh, them? No, they're trying to kill us. We all know Draygans only serve the Regency, anyway. I've only got two arms, see? We were running for our lives when we...well, dropped in."

  The man narrowed his eyes at Wyatt. Then he turned to an older woman at his side and whispered into her ear. The woman eyed Wyatt as she listened to what Wyatt couldn't hear. The man pulled back and climbed atop his chair, rising above the armed crowd. He held up an open palm.

  "These three humans," he said loudly, nodding at them. "Shall we allow them to speak of their mysterious journey here and be given, for now, the benefit of our good f
aith, and shown our hospitality?"

  Hands jutted into the air at once, most open-palmed like the man's, though Wyatt saw a smattering of closed fists.

  "Very well," the man said. "It is decided. Their story shall be heard. Now, the Draygans..."

  Eyes and weapons turned to accost the hovering warriors with braids of flame. Suddenly, the creatures didn't look as menacing as they once had.

  The man hadn't even posed a question to be decided, but at once, the air filled with closed fists.

  The man nodded again. "Draygans! Servants of our sworn enemy, I ask now that you surrender and prepare yourselves to give forth every bit of information you have as to your arrival here as well as any questions that may be posed as to your masters."

  One of the Draygans twitched and bolted for a window. Another snarled and lashed out with his braid, cutting clean through a nearby sword blade in the blink of an eye. In another moment, both Draygans were struck with too many arrows to count and fell weightily to the floor, where they were set upon by blade and foot.

  "Enough!" the man atop the chair bellowed. The crowd stopped at once, returning to prepared positions, regarding the remaining Draygan with cruel intent. "You must be the wise one," he said to the Draygan. "Release your fire magic and surrender. It will not be offered a second time. As much as you are hated, it is known you are slaves as once we were. We would rather not offer death, but instead hope. But you must choose which you desire this day."

  The fire from the Draygan's braid evaporated with a hiss of smoke, and the warrior slowly descended into the crowd. Dozens of hands grabbed at the towering half-man, half-dragon and dragged him away through a set of thick wooden doors. Numerous other men and women followed with the slain Draygans being dragged behind them.

  "Ah, it's settled, then. The Representatives will hear your story and the People will decide an appropriate course of action." The mustachioed man stepped down from the chair and sat on it. He picked up a drumstick, brought it halfway to his mouth, and then looked up at Wyatt again. "And do climb down off our dinner, if you would."

  Ms. Abagail was the first to move, sliding off the table and brushing off her soaked clothing. "We're very s-sorry," she stammered. "Like Wyatt said, there is a rational explanation for all of this. I hope." She looked at Wyatt as he and Lucy dropped off the table.

  "And just so you know," Lucy said loudly, no longer holding on to Wyatt, but standing tall and defiant on her own, "it's all Wyatt's fault."

  "Hey!" Wyatt exclaimed. "It most certainly is not."

  "Well, actually—" Ms. Abagail said.

  "Enough!" the man at the head of the table said over a mouthful of food. "If you would so kindly wait in the Observatory, where you will be farthest from us, it would do us all well." He pointed at a small door in the far corner of the room. "We will join you shortly, as it would seem you cannot hold your tongues for very long, and I do wish to hear your story, as unbelievable as I imagine it will be." The man smiled for a brief moment before returning to his meal.

  Wyatt looked around and saw that all in the dining hall had resumed their meals, oblivious to Wyatt, Lucy, and Ms. Abagail standing disheveled in their midst, and seemingly ignorant of the thin streaks of Draygan blood that trailed down the center aisle.

  Wyatt shrugged and set off for the small door in the corner, waving on his companions. "Well, let's go, gang."

  Wyatt reached the door, but turned back before opening it. "Hey, where are we, anyway?"

  The mustachioed man didn't bother turning to face Wyatt; he simply looked to the ceiling and shouted, "Sanctuary is where you've found yourself, stranger. Welcome! For now."

  Dozens of fists struck the tables at once and the mass of dining humans replied in unison, "Sanctuary! Forever and always. Sanctuary!"

  "Oh," Wyatt said, not finding an answer he could do anything with.

  Beyond the door was a short hallway that led into spiral stone steps that wound upward. As they began to climb, Ms. Abagail asked, "Do either of you know where we are?"

  "Nope," Wyatt said.

  "Lucy?"

  "Sanctuary," she said simply.

  "Well, yeah," Ms. Abagail said. "I heard that part. Where's that?"

  "Dunno," Wyatt said.

  "She was talking to me," Lucy retorted, pushing Wyatt in the back and nearly causing him to slip on a step. "It's the safe place," Lucy continued. "In a hidden place. No one will find us here. I told you."

  "Hmmm," Wyatt mused. "Sounds good to me."

  "Did you forget about Athena?" Ms. Abagail asked.

  "Oh, right. How far away is Gazaria from here, Lucy? It's where I saw her last."

  "I don't know," Lucy replied.

  "This is your world. Shouldn't you know where everything is?" Wyatt asked.

  "I've never been here. I only see it in my dreams. And dreams are funny and fuzzy."

  "Well, that's no help," Wyatt said shortly.

  "Hey, I didn't make this happen," Lucy shouted. "This is your fault!"

  Wyatt thought to respond in a similar manner, directing the blame back at her. Lucy had made the world, after all, so as far as Wyatt was concerned, it was all her fault. Luckily, Ms. Abagail interjected before he could. "Hey, I will not have you two arguing about this. You're brother and sister, for God's sake. And whatever is going on, and wherever we are, and whatever is going to happen, is more important than pointing fingers. I still can't believe any of this is real, but if it is—"

  "It is!" Wyatt and Lucy said at once. They looked at each other and smiled.

  Ms. Abagail sighed. "What matters is sticking together and not fighting each other. I think we have enough enemies."

  "But siblings are supposed to fight," Wyatt protested with a grin.

  "You two may be siblings, but you are by no means normal siblings. So put a lid on the blaming and let's focus on what we're doing here," Ms. Abagail said, once more seeming like the well-intentioned staff member of The Shepherd's Crook.

  "Yes, Ms. Abagail," Wyatt said, layering on the sarcasm as thickly as possible.

  Ms. Abagail pushed his shoulder. "I'm serious."

  Lucy pushed Ms. Abagail and skipped a step to walk in front of her and next to Wyatt. "Hey, don't push my brother," she said with mock malice.

  "Yeah," Wyatt agreed. "We're a team."

  He heard Ms. Abagail sigh loudly as he and Lucy ran the rest of the way up the steps.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "OH, WOW," MS. Abagail said airily as she came to lean against the same stone railing that Wyatt and Lucy were glued to.

  "Uh huh," was all Wyatt could manage to reply.

  At the top of the spiral staircase that had seemed to go on forever was a large circular room with a high domed ceiling of painted glass. There were no walls, only intricately carved columns of stone that served as a boundary between the room and three hundred and sixty degrees of balcony.

  "Oh, wow," Ms. Abagail said again. "You can see for miles. Hundreds of miles, maybe. Oh, wow."

  From what Wyatt could tell, they were standing in the highest tower of a ruggedly beautiful castle that seemed to grow out of a mountain. Jagged stone and snow-capped peaks stretched to the horizon on one side of the Observatory, while a never-ending field of snow sloped away from Sanctuary on the opposite side.

  The sun hung low in the sky and transformed the snow into a kaleidoscope of purple tinged with bits of pink and crimson. The wind at his face was stiff and frigid, but otherworldly warmth beat at his back, and the sight was so spectacular that the cold was a distant thought.

  "Breathtaking, is it not?" asked a voice from behind Wyatt.

  He couldn't tear his eyes away, and, in his periphery, could see that Lucy and Ms. Abagail were frozen in place as well.

  "I can't believe what I'm seeing," Ms. Abagail said. "I don't believe any of this."

  The mustachioed man came to stand at Wyatt's side. Other men and women stood at his back, though they remained silent for the time being. "You don't believe?" the m
an questioned with a laugh. "It is you three that fell through a hole in the ceiling that is now no longer there, crushed a perfectly good dinner, and brought three of our sworn foes into our midst. None of those things should be possible. Sanctuary is a place that none except those who expressly need to know know of. And yet here you are: three young humans that look to have seen a war and only just escaped with their lives. It is Sanctuary that should not believe you."

  Wyatt finally turned from the frozen landscape and looked down at his garb. He laughed at the torn and dirtied hospital gown that was once soaked with the rain of a magical storm and was now frozen solid. It cracked as he moved, and he laughed again.

  "This is all amusing to you?" the man inquired.

  Wyatt looked up and wiped a tear from his eye before it could freeze. Ms. Abagail and Lucy turned from the railing and pressed in close to him. There looked to be a dozen men and women crowded around the trio. None were smiling.

  Wyatt looked at Ms. Abagail as she grabbed her hair, found it frozen, and frowned. Lucy made a funny face and sneezed, expelling two strands of phlegm that hung from her nostrils. Wyatt and Ms. Abagail looked at the slight girl in frozen pajamas, with lines of quickly freezing snot hanging nearly to her lips, and broke into matching fits of laughter.

  The men and women surrounding them waited in stunned silence until Wyatt, Lucy, and Ms. Abagail collected themselves enough to stand without trembling and slowed their breathing enough to speak once more.

  "I'm sorry," Ms. Abagail said. "This is...this is...it's all just so ridiculous."

  "Ridiculous, indeed," the mustachioed man responded curtly, arms folded across his thick chest. "Nevertheless, if you have quite calmed yourselves, we still have the matter of your strange arrival to discuss. It is, as you so eloquently phrased it, ridiculous."

  Ms. Abagail straightened up and elbowed Wyatt to do the same while she pulled on Lucy's arm as well.

  "Very well," the man said after a moment. "Please, sit." The crowd parted as he gestured at a circular table in the middle of the space. There was a hole at its center, from which a tall metal rose protruded. The elegant metalwork reached nearly to the glass ceiling, its petals spread as wide as the table beneath it. Wyatt craned his neck in wonder, having missed it when he first entered the Observatory.