Saved

By Lana Bischoff

Timothy Larkin Baines is an orphan being raised by a loving household staff consisting of a cook, a butler, a house manager, and a maid. He is wealthy beyond belief, but his money will do him no good because he is dying. He knows only crippling pain and night fevers. His best friend is a Siamese cat named Preeney. Since his nightly high fevers, he now hears Preeney's thoughts and considers himself crazy. His daily visits to a nearby pond will soon change his life forever. When a hatchling war dragon from another world befriends him, he thinks it's the luckiest day of his life. His Teska is the fiercest, most beautiful dragon ever, and she chooses him as her rider. What Timothy does not know is that if he dies, so does Teska. She must go to her world and prepare to bring Timothy back with her when he is closest to his end. The flight of death to the Ancient Ritual Chamber, if successful, will take him to Teska's world. It is a world of fantasy and wonder, a world of wizardry and magic, a world of war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645848721

Book preview

The Prophecy

From red and black

Shall come the gray of dawn.

When the mountain quakes,

The heads reborn

Shall rise in numbers three,

With dragon eyes.

Hope shall spring eternal,

And the song shall be sung

For all to hear.

1

Seera

It was time. Seera heavily drew herself up to her feet and lumbered toward the front of the cave, her talons scratching the gray rock flooring of Middle Mountain as she headed to the entrance. Her once-beautiful copper-colored scales were now a dull rust. Her body was changing dramatically, and she knew it must if she were to lay her egg soon, but she had never expected this. She was queen of a long line of royal Ancient dragons considered old to be in this condition. She needed rest, she needed space, she needed to be away from these inferiors.

As she passed by, some of the smaller yellow females warily watched and withdrew toward the back wall, pushing their draclings behind them. Their tails and small powerful wings stayed in a defensive position should Seera decide to lash out as a parting gesture. Others created a barrier and cowered over eggs not yet hatched, hissing and spitting warnings not to come close. They needn’t worry. She was glad to be leaving.

She stopped momentarily and glared back, then continued on in her slow, sluggish exit to the cave opening and the fresh air outside. She’d be rid of these commonplace ones with their rounded snouts and ordinary appearance. Where the top of their heads had few spikes, she had a regal array of daggerlike horns. Her ears, sharply pointed and curved inward toward one another, were daunting. The villagers, with their superstitious beliefs, claimed the Ancients to be direct descendants of the devil himself because of these ears, and she took that as a compliment. Her upper eye ridges were wide, high, and deep, making room for oversized eyes that could see into the past as well as the present. Her head was strong and angular, leading to a sharpened point of a snout and mouth, enabling her and all Ancients to breathe fire farther—helpful in times of war. Two rows of bony spikes jutted down her back, leaving room for a rider, then continued on to her tail, which ended in a splay of wicked spiked whips. Her body was large and meant for endurance, power, and speed. She didn’t belong here.

Recently, she’d become snappish. The yellow-back draclings annoyed her with their constant high-pitched whistling sounds. They were now of an age when they acted out their dreams and flew in abandoned chaos throughout the dragonhold, bouncing off walls and anything else in their way. More than once, they had rocketed into not only the walls, but also her, disturbing what little peace she had. She’d snapped and used toothless pinches to ward them off on several occasions, but it was getting much worse now that they had grown in size.

Everything had been bearable up to three moons ago when these flying pests had been at their worst and she in a vile mood. She had lashed out and bitten two of them, ripping several of their side scales off, causing serious injuries. She was sorry she supposed, but it wasn’t her fault. She was a war dragon, not a keeper.

As she drew nearer the opening, she smelled the fresh night air once again. She stopped, inhaled deeply, and continued her walk the short distance to the outer ledge. The bright moonlight shone out over the land. To the east, the towering trees of the Forest of Ferran created a dark, eerie shadow against the nightscape. The forest was a dangerous place, dangerous enough during the full light of day, but at night, it was to be feared by all.

It was said by the flatlanders that strange sounds came from the forest. Some claimed unbelievable night creatures roamed there and protected its borders. From the village of Cant, near the forest’s edge, villagers claimed to have seen horrendous beasts rise into the sky. This in itself wouldn’t have been unusual, except when silhouetted against the moon, the beasts’ bones shone through their hides. It was all hearsay, of course, but still an unusual presence lay within this dark and forbidding region.

The other creatures that roamed there were deadly also, and there were hundreds of them. Seera disliked the Drools especially because they were ugly and smelled badly. They were giant people covered in mud, but underneath the mud, something else lay hidden. No one knew what they did or why they were there, but they lived under the mud lake near the Hyding Tree. She shivered thinking about them.

If the creatures weren’t bad enough, there were the Ferrans themselves. These men were barbaric, and the sight of them put terror into the hearts of the bravest. There were the Tins, the shorter and more vicious cousins of the elves. The Tins were the archery marksmen of the Forest of Ferran that had the ability to blend in so well with their surroundings, it was difficult to see them. If you did see them, it was because they meant you to. This only happened when their arrows were headed straight for your heart, and the vision of them faded quickly in death. Yes, the forest was to be avoided.

Seera looked to the north this night where she would go with her mate, Skar, from the sister planet Ruween. He would come soon, and together they would make the flight up to the high reaches of Mount Banyon, one of the highest mountains on all of Sansong. The cave of the huge old dragonhold she was going back to had once been her home, not only to her, but to all Ancients of the planet since before time. Now the two of them would be the only Ancients there.

As she thought of Skar, she saw him silhouetted in the night sky, coming from the direction of the flatlander village of Dareen. He was jet-black and dark as death; his only other color was that of a diamond patch on his lower neck centered as a heart of blood red. He was with his rider, Orin, who had been his faithful friend and comrade for years, and she envied him this. When Skar and Orin drew closer, she saw two additional riders on Crimson Night dragons from the Forest of Ferran.

Skar must have seen her, for he bugled her to come and began a slow turn to the north. Seera stepped cautiously to the edge of the rock shelf, spread her tremendous wings, and dropped into space. Her descent was short as her majestic wings caught the updraft of the warm night air. She was going home.

The journey would be long, and night journeys were especially dangerous for dragons. Working dragons could barely see at night. Ancients fared a little better. Their night vision was a soft glow of amber light that enabled them to have shadow vision. Added to the moonlight of the clear night tonight, the journey would be bearable.

The wizard Worhl had told Skar she must fly tonight as soon as the light of day was gone. It had not been a request, rather a command. This was not like the wizard who had always treated her with such great respect. It made her uneasy.

When they had been flying for a considerable time, Skar circled back to her. In her mind, she heard him say, We don’t have far to go.

I’m getting tired, she mind-spoke back to him. She saw the two riders, High Wizard Worhl and Leena, Worhl’s apprentice. She was sure that her old friend Worhl was seeing to her safety, yet she still couldn’t understand why he had told her the move must be tonight.

She couldn’t dwell on it because they were getting closer to the dragonhold, and she must concentrate. They were near the base of Banyon Mountain, and the ascent would be straight up. With all her strength, she pumped her powerful huge wings and strained to gain momentum as she went upward.

They passed the tree line quickly and went into the clouds that surrounded the mountain. The colder air of the high reaches cooled her body that worked overtime. She was extremely tired, and maybe she couldn’t do this. No, she must concentrate and push herself harder, keep going, and get to the dragonhold before her strength gave out. Skar was beside her now, counting down in dragonseconds to let her know how soon the cave entrance would appear.

When they came even with the entrance to the cave, Seera slowed slightly, banked hard left, and headed toward the opening at breakneck speed. She sped past the gaping hole of the cave entrance, back winged, and landed hard, scraping the right side of her middle body badly against the inner wall. Her wings and head drooped in exhaustion as her legs shook to remain standing. She wheezed and gasped violently for air and retched putrid bile onto the cave floor. Her legs shook uncontrollably as she crumpled onto her wounded side, but she was home at last.

Her head was spinning, and she was seeing strange lights all around her. Her breathing eased, and she realized these were real lights, embers glowing from fire rock bowls throughout the vast cave. She attempted to stand but could not.

Two men raced toward her followed by a very tall, slender woman. The men, grim faced from what they had just seen, came to an abrupt halt directly in front of her. Both had black shoulder-length hair and wore strange rose-colored glass pieces assembled with wire over and across their eyes. The wires extended along the sides of their faces and wrapped around their ears.

The taller, broader man spoke in a quick, raspy voice, My queen, are you all right?

Seera could understand him because like all Ancients, she understood most languages of men and beasts. No, she replied.

The man used his hands to summon the woman. Do something now.

The woman was dressed like the dark-haired men, her top a crimson wool shirt that hung loose over long pants, with the lower part of the pants tucked into high mountain boots. Around her chest was slung a wide leather strap that looked like a bandolier. There were no war weapons; instead, varying sizes of leather pouches were tied to it. At the bottom of the bandolier hung a much larger pouch that ran from the woman’s waist, along her left thigh to her knee. Her hair was black like that of the two men and hung down her back in a single braid. She was fair of skin, but unlike them, she wore no glass pieces over her eyes—strange eyes, milky blue, and clouded as though covered by a mysterious mist. Without speaking, the woman reached low on the bandolier and untied a wand. She raised her hand high into the air and swung the wand in a wide arc, encompassing all of Seera’s body in a soft light.

Instantly, Seera felt a warm tingling, her breathing became normal, and her light-headed feeling went away. Her muscles, which had been greatly strained and painful from flight, relaxed into a liquidy sensation that was almost pleasurable.

The wizard Worhl stepped forward. My queen, Seera, let me first say you have done well in your flight to get here tonight. I know you must believe the events of tonight strange, but it was necessary for you to leave your former dragonhold immediately, and flying at night would draw little attention to you. Tonight, you will be tended to and take rest. Tomorrow, a small council will speak with you. Pointing to the broader dark-haired man, Worhl continued, You remember Torkell, leader of the Banyon people.

The man bowed. My queen, welcome home to Banyon Mountain. This is my son, Antar.

The younger man moved forward. My queen, welcome.

Torkell continued waving his hand and pointed in the woman’s direction. My daughter, Clendish, will be responsible for all your needs. She is well-known for her kind nature and is called Clendish the Healer by our people.

Clendish stood directly in front of Seera—tall, straight, and graceful. Do you feel better, my queen?

Yes, thank you.

Food will be coming shortly. Beasts have been killed for you. Once you’ve eaten, I’ll show you where we have laid fresh rose thatch for you to bed down.

We’ll leave you now to rest. Leena and I must see to Council members arriving tonight, said Worhl.

Leena had been standing behind Worhl the entire time saying nothing. She was a very young apprentice. Worhl had said long ago he needed to teach someone the craft of his wizardry, for he was getting very old. He had traveled to many villages seeking someone but had never quite been satisfied with the boys that showed interest. He insisted his apprentice be young and have some natural calling and just plain common sense. It was in the desert region of Hola that he happened upon Leena. Her parents had been killed and buried alive while digging in one of the underground tunneling systems used for food storage. After their death, she had cared for herself and was a favorite among the villagers. Both young and old acknowledged and appreciated the uncanny wisdom she possessed and sought her out when problems arose. She listened to them and came up with workable solutions that made all involved happy. Worhl was sure he had found the right apprentice. The girl had wisdom far beyond her years, compassion, and the common sense he searched for in a young wizard. Leena had left that very day with him, and everyone knew she was training to take his place.

Before Leena left, she bowed low to Seera. I bid you a good, restful night, my queen. May the stars in your eyes be plentiful.

Seera winced. She hadn’t heard this Ancient parting for a very long time. You will be a wise wizard someday, Leena. May the stars above you be plentiful as well.

Skar telepathed, I can stay if you like, but I think you’d rest better if Orin and I went to the other smaller dragonhold. It’s not far.

I’ll be fine. Go.

Seera watched the woman Clendish as she quietly moved about carrying embers in a small cauldron, placing them in the rock bowls. After poking about in each, the embers came alive and gave off a soft glow. Something was different about this Clendish woman. Seera wasn’t sure what it was, but it was something.

She hadn’t thought she’d be hungry but found she could hardly wait for the beasts to be put down before sinking her teeth into them and tearing their flesh to bits and eating to fill her belly. After eating, a feeling of contentment came over her. Clendish pointed the way deeper into the hold to a wonderfully thick bed of scented rose thatch. Seera turned facing toward the entrance and sank into the matting, exhausted.

Clendish approached slowly. I need to tend your eye ridge. It appears to have been scraped along with some of your scales. I have salve that works quickly and soothes the pain.

Do you think it necessary?

Anything to ease your pain and keep your body strong is necessary.

Very well then.

Clendish reached into the largest pouch hanging from her bandolier and removed a small clay pot. She untied the leather stringer that held the leather cover piece in place and shook until a greenish ooze slid into her left hand. Putting the pottery down, she rubbed her hands together to spread the salve evenly over the palms of both hands.

You must lower your head so that I may reach your eye ridge, Clendish said.

Seera’s head lowered and rested on the rose thatch. Clendish touched the ridge. Seera winced.

I’m sorry if this hurts, Clendish crooned.

Seera relaxed. Clendish’s hands were gentle yet strong as she worked the salve into the scrape. She used tiny circular motions to get around and under the left eye ridge and moved to the right eye ridge, following the same procedure as before.

Some of your scales must be tended.

Seera remained quiet.

Working quickly, Clendish replaced the leather piece to the top of the salve pot, tied it securely, and replaced it in the large pouch. From the upper part of the bandolier, she untied a black pouch from which she extracted the tiniest of wands, some Linton seeds, and a pestle and mortar. Sprinkling a few of the Linton seeds into the mortar, she used the pestle to grind the seeds into a fine powder. From the bandolier, she untied a bright-red pouch. She drew out a vial filled with a few precious drops of dragon’s blood. One drop was placed in the mortar of crushed seeds. She picked up the tiny wand she had removed before and tapped the edge of the bowl twice. A swirl of red smoke began to rise. Using the wand as a stirrer, the smoke sparked and attached itself to the end.

As she checked Seera’s body, she occasionally stopped, leaving her left hand on Seera’s damaged scales while pointing the wand with her right hand at the wound. Red swirls curled around the area, bathing, closing, and covering the openings. When Clendish had finished, she cleaned everything and placed the items back in her bandolier where they had been before.

Seera suddenly had a strange sensation of familiarity toward this woman she could not explain. Clendish stood before her. When I’m around, it won’t be necessary to shield your eyes.

How can this be? True dragon eyes are death to those who gaze upon them?

Look into my eyes, Clendish demanded.

Seera did. She saw not the black eyes of Torkell and Antar behind the rose-colored glass pieces but a pale smoke coloring. She had an uncontrolled intake of breath. You’re blind. But you move about and do things as if you can see.

There was a time when I looked directly into the eyes of an Ancient. The dragon was not in its full strength, and because of that alone, I did not die. However, I did go blind. Now I see auras. Unshield your eyes.

Seera did. What looked like men’s eyes with pupils, irises, and the outer white pulled up, like a curtain, exposing her true eyes. They were solid ebony in color, glossed like onyx, giving her the true appearance of what she was, a war dragon.

Clendish turned and walked smoothly toward the area where she would bed down. Carefully she removed her bandolier medical band and sat. Next to her was a lyre, and she began to finger the instrument and began playing a haunting melody. Seera’s body gave a slight tremor.

Does this upset you? I don’t have to play. Many of our own lesser dragons find it soothing.

It doesn’t bother me, Seera replied. But it did.

Clendish began to sing, her voice soft as she sang the words of Sansong’s prophecy, From red and black shall come the gray of dawn…

Seera rose to her full height and hissed loudly at Clendish, and Clendish could see the flaming aura of anger in her eyes. When Seera spoke, it was in dragon tongue, the guttural rasps in her throat spat out with vehemence, "I KNOW YOU!"

Yes, you do, was all Clendish replied calmly.

I SHOULD KILL YOU. WHY DID YOU DO IT?

2

Timothy

The shades were room darkeners, but still streams of light managed to come in through the sides. It had been a rough night for Timothy even though the high fever had lasted only four hours this time. Preeney didn’t look so good either. Anytime Timothy was sick, she padded around the bed like a sentinel thinking that would help.

He looked down at the Siamese cat huddled close to his own body. The beautifully colored fur was scruffy. Her nose was dry, her breathing was quick, and he suspected her heart was beginning to hurt. It was weird, but since his bout of nightly high fevers in January, something had changed. It was like he could hear Preeney’s thoughts in his head. Now it wasn’t just a serious medical condition he had to cope with; he was going crazy too.

He inched up in his bed, waiting for his head to clear, then decided he needed something for his headache. He rolled back the sheet and blanket, damp from the fever sweats, and hung his left leg over the edge of the bed. Using both hands, he grabbed his right leg and moved it over to the edge next to the other. Easing forward, he pushed up to stand, a little wobbly maybe, but not so bad. Putting his left hand on the nightstand, he steadied himself. Slow and easy was the way to go. The kinks would work themselves out.

This was pitiful. He walked to the bathroom, which seemed to be getting farther from the bed each day, like an old man. Maybe more like a puppet on a string controlled by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Oh, well.

The bathroom was extremely large, the walls recently tiled, thank goodness. Mirrors had covered the entire wall above and alongside the vanity before he had them removed. He didn’t want to look into an oversized mirror and be reminded daily of his weakening body. The only mirror now was one on the front of a simple medicine cabinet.

He opened the cabinet door without looking in the mirror and found the one strong pain reliever in a gold flowered enamel pillbox. Mrs. Penner, the house manager, would never be so careless as to leave a whole bottle of pills lying around just anywhere. He filled the nearby glass with water, took his pill, and closed the cabinet door.

His sad reflection in the mirror stared back at him like some stranger. He was twelve years old and looked like a ghost, his skin sallow with dark circles under his eyes. Even the few freckles scattered over his nose seemed to have disappeared, which was okay with him. The girls at his school had always said his freckles were cute, but he had never been too terribly fond of them. They made him look like a little kid. Timothy Larkin Baines, you look like an albino raccoon.

The rest of him wasn’t looking so good either. His once dark-blue eyes now seemed paler than before. His chestnut-colored hair had thinned and turned the color of dirt. He was skinny because he’d lost so much weight, which seemed to make his ears stick out more. He was a mess. A shower is in order, young man, he said to himself.

There was a large walk-in shower with a marble bench for him to sit on. Ten to twelve showerheads were located in the shower walls, placed around the marble bench, so he didn’t have to move about when he lathered up and washed his hair. Soap and shampoo were nearby for him to easily lean over and retrieve when needed. Thank goodness, he was rich enough to afford these conveniences. He had lots and lots and lots of money, not that it would ever do him any good.

When he had been taken to the doctor for a simple sore throat last year, the doctors had seen some strange bumps. No big deal, right? Wrong. He ended up going through a battery of tests at a nearby hospital, his own doctors calling in specialists from around the country. Something was seriously wrong, they said. No kidding. He wasn’t even lucky enough to have a disease with a proper name. No, he had a condition that sounded more like the call letters of a radio station followed by a telephone number.

Preeney was waking up. How did he know that? Strange, very strange.

Ouch. Ouch, ouch, Preeney’s thoughts came to him. He needed to dry off and get dressed. She needed her heart pill, but she wouldn’t leave the bedroom to go downstairs to the kitchen without him. Since she had come into the house as a kitten, she followed him all the time. She was definitely his cat, but she was broken, just like him.

Bartles, the chauffeur and butler, had brought her home five years ago from Mr. Nelson’s farm nearby after going to pick up some fresh eggs for the household. While talking to Mr. Nelson, the kindly farmer had said the kitten was the sickly runt of the litter that wouldn’t last long, and the best thing would just be to put her to sleep. When Bartles had heard that, he had immediately picked her up and tucked her into the pocket of his cardigan sweater and brought her home.

Everyone had taken turns feeding Preeney milk and vitamin supplements with an eye dropper prescribed by the local veterinarian. Timothy had carried her around in a baby sling next to him all the time so she wouldn’t be frightened, and she’d stay warm. After that, Preeney picked him to follow all the time. Preeney was his friend.

Ouch. Ouch.

I’m coming, Preeney.

Now that he was dressed, Timothy realized they had to get down the stairs. Since he didn’t trust his right leg to hold him up, he’d gotten into the habit of going down the stairs on his skinny bum. He figured it was a little more dignified than bumping his way down on his head.

Bartles was standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting. He was the butler of the household, tall at six feet two inches with an athletically built body. He always wore dark dress pants with a shirt and tie and kept a neatly hung jacket in the foyer to put on when he had to answer the front door for visitors. His dark-brown hair, almost black in appearance, was neat and stylish and accentuated his light-olive skin and blue eyes. His chiseled facial features reminded Timothy of one of those Greek gods he had seen in a book on Greek mythology. He was kind and always had time to help anyone if they needed him.

Do you need some help getting down, Master Tim?

No thanks, Bartles, but Preeney might.

Bartles walked up the stairs, passing Timothy sliding down. He leaned down and picked Preeney up, careful not to put much pressure on her chest and heart. He carried her down and placed her gently on the floor. Okay, my dear, you have arrived, and he smiled.

Thanks, Bartles.

Preeney was already headed for the kitchen. Ouch. Ouch, ouch. Ouch.

Timothy called out to the kitchen, Preeney needs her heart pill. She’s hurting.

Okay, came the familiar reply.

Preeney’s, Ouch, ouch, was interrupted by, Nice hat. Ouch, chuckle, ouch.

Timothy walked into the kitchen to see the refrigerator door open, hiding the upper half of a woman’s body. The lower half was clad in blue jeans, and on her feet were red sneakers. Her bottom was swaying to and fro to the rhythm of Cajun music coming from a radio located nearby on the kitchen counter.

Good morning, Boo, Timothy said, trying to sound cheerful.

Good morning, dearest, said Boo as she straightened up, closing the refrigerator door. Boo was slightly overweight, but she called it being fluffy. She had once said her deceased husband didn’t like sharp bones sticking out of his woman. She had laughed and said she was sure glad of that. Her hazel eyes crinkled when she laughed, and she laughed much of the time. Her hair was a soft brown and naturally curly, kept short because she said she tended to be lazy about taking care of it.

She was the cook of the household, but she was really much more than that. She never called him Master Tim or Master Timothy like everyone else in the house. It was either dearest or Timothy dearest. If he was really sick, she called him Timothy love. That’s when he knew he was in trouble.

He watched her move to the sink and smiled, realizing what Preeney’s hat comment had been about. On Boo’s head was his grandfather’s old discarded straw hat. She had found it in the attic a couple of years ago and decided it was the perfect gardening hat. The first time she had worn it, he did notice mice had chewed and absconded with part of the front brim. Undaunted, Boo had gotten out a wide red velvet Christmas ribbon and hot-glued the ribbon around the existing faded band. She had patched the brim with a scrap of colorful floral material, hot-gluing all the way, and then added what she called the finishing touches. Of course, the finishing touches were old silk flowers glued here, there, and everywhere. Yup, you’re right, Preeney, nice hat.

Gardening today, are you?

Nope.

So why the hat?

This is no longer my gardening hat, dearest, Boo replied. This is now my official weather hat.

I think you’ve lost me.

Well, dearest, you know I like to come down early every morning to watch a little news and get the day’s weather. I brew a fresh pot of coffee for everyone, get my own cup, and settle in that comfy chair for half an hour to watch television.

I know that.

Well, I’ve been watching Ned the weatherman and can’t take much more of him. Two days ago, he’s standing on TV holding a pink umbrella with duckies, wearing a lime-green rain slicker and purple galoshes, telling everyone it’s going to rain. What happens? The sun shines all day. Yesterday, he was wearing a tropical shirt with a wide-brimmed flowered hat and calling for a sunny day. Is that what happened? No. We had rain showers off and on all morning. You remember yesterday, don’t you?

Feeling a little cornered, Timothy replied, Sure, of course, I couldn’t go down to the lake.

I can’t believe that man went to any kind of school for anything to do with weather, Boo forged on. The man’s a fool. No wonder people call him Ned the Nut. Did you know that people call him Ned the Nut?

Timothy was going to answer but decided against it since she was on a rampage about this subject of Ned the Nut. He wouldn’t probably have gotten a word in any way since she was starting in again.

This morning, he stands there talking about some electrical storms in Clariton County while pointing to our county of Genesis. He talks about mild flooding in Harvey County but points to Clariton County. The man’s a fool, I tell you.

Timothy’s mouth was beginning to feel tired just from Boo doing all the talking.

So I’ve decided to be our very own weather person. Every day, I’ll just hang my head out the window, check things out, put on my hat, and make a weather prediction for the day. I’ll point to the correct day on the calendar and mark down what I’ve predicted. At the end of the month, I’ll check to see who has the highest percentage of correct predictions. If mine is better, I’m going to apply to the news station for a part-time job. They won’t have to pay me much at all. What do you think?

I’d say Ned the Nut has gotten to you.

She smiled back at him. She could see he was working hard to be cheerful for her. What had the doctor said? Keep his life as normal as possible. Well, a little craziness thrown in wouldn’t hurt. Boo saw nothing but his paleness and the dark under his eyes. How she loved this boy and what she wouldn’t do for him. He needed all the love and support he could get, and she was determined to give him that and more. Changing the subject, she asked, Timothy dearest, what do you think of our breakfast table? Go over and see how special I’ve made it.

Timothy moved toward the small round kitchen table. There was a new, bright-red lounge chair on one side that he eased into. The kitchen itself was huge and modern with granite countertops, shiny stainless-steel appliances, and beautiful terrazzo flooring. Despite the grandeur of the kitchen, he had wanted a cozy corner where he and Boo could sit and relax together while eating. They had started having breakfast together because he didn’t want to eat alone anymore. Boo had started decorating their table as a game, coming up with some of the most outlandish settings.

He looked at the table and smirked. The tablecloth was the one they had tie-dyed for fun last summer. It was aqua blue with bright yellow, orange, teal, and in the places where they had overdone the color mix, dirty brown. It was really ugly.

On the tablecloth was his setting. Boo had put out one of his plates from when he was small with a cow jumping over the moon. The eating utensils consisted of a plastic blue knife, a red plastic spoon, and a clear plastic fork. He had a paper Halloween napkin and a plastic racing-car cup.

On Boo’s side was a chipped white plate with a large yellow flower in the middle. Her fork was green plastic, her knife black plastic, and instead of a regular spoon, there was a bent metal measuring spoon. Her napkin had balloons and said Happy Birthday in blue. The cup she chose for herself was Styrofoam with a rounded bottom that probably wouldn’t stand up straight regardless of what one did to it.

Boo was always sentimental about the centerpieces. Today’s centerpiece was an old pair of his white baby shoes with little pink plastic flowers sticking out of the openings and trailing onto the table.

I think it’s the very best.

Me too, dear. Those people that decorate for those fancy stores have nothing over me. She laughed heartily, knowing she had made this wonderful, terribly sick child a little happier today. Preeney seems to be a bit more herself now that she’s had her pill. Poor dear. She’ll eat a bit and take a rest in her bed. I’ll give her a little brush down later. She always seems to like that.

Timothy realized he was suddenly feeling hungry. What’s for breakfast?

I thought we might have some pancakes. She pointed to the counter. I can make blueberry or chocolate chip. Which would you like?

Chocolate chip. They were his favorite. Could I have some juice and milk?

You can have anything you want, even if I have to grow the oranges and milk the cow myself.

Breakfast was good even though Timothy ate little of his food. Can we play our story game now? he asked. He loved the story game. He got to ask a question about anything, and Boo would make up a story or tell the real story if there was one. Today he would ask the question for her favorite story.

What would you like to know today?

He made believe he was thinking hard even though he already knew the question. Here goes. How did you get the nickname of Boo?

She knew this was his favorite story as well as her own because it was how they had connected when he was small. Each time she told it to him, she put her whole heart into it.

It all started when you were about a year old. You were such a happy baby and would go to everyone in the household, except me. Let me tell you, I was very upset. How I wanted to hold you and hug you to me all the time. Each time I would go to hold you in my arms, you cried. Later, when no one was around, I cried too.

Timothy sat back in his chair and relaxed because he loved it when Boo told him stories.

Whenever I could, I’d play peekaboo with you. You seemed not to mind me playing this game with you as long as I didn’t hold you. I’d cover my eyes with my hands and suddenly take them away and say, ‘Peekaboo.’ You’d laugh and laugh and crawl after me, wanting to play the game all the time. Sometimes, I’d put the kitchen towel on my head instead of putting my hands over my eyes. You didn’t care. You loved the little game.

She took time out to sip her coffee and think back nostalgically. It had been a good time then when Timothy’s parents were still around, and everyone was so happy.

Then one day, your mother and father decided to have tea in the living room. I brought the tray with everything and set it down on a low table. You were just starting to toddle around, and no one paid any attention to the fact that you were trying to pull yourself up using the tea table. Suddenly, your mother yelled to your father, ‘Tim, grab Timothy.’ Your father swooped you up off the floor just as the scalding tea came crashing down.

Timothy smiled because he knew this was the part Boo loved the most.

Everything and everyone was all upset, but no more than you. Oh my, and this was where she always put both hands over her heart. You were scared to death and started to howl. Your father tried to calm you down, your mother tried, but nothing, absolutely nothing could make you stop crying. It was then that you pushed away from your mother and reached out your arms to me. Your arms were outstretched, and your little fingers on your hands were flexing in and out. You called out, ‘Boo, Boo.’ Your father looked at you and then to me and said, ‘Belle, I think he wants you.’ Let me tell you, I was across that room in a flash. I held out my arms to you, and you came right to me, all the time saying Boo. I grabbed you and hugged you so tight. I went straight to the rocking chair your mother had in the room at the time, sat down, and started rocking and humming a lullaby. You were asleep in ten minutes. Boo leaned back in her chair and took another sip of her coffee. After that day, you followed me around wherever I went. I was so proud you wanted to be with me and that you had a name you knew me by. I told everyone in the house from then on I was to be called Boo, and I’m Boo to this day.

Tim loved this story because Boo loved the story. Strange how it was the little things he appreciated the most.

Is it cold outside? he asked, changing the subject.

Actually, it’s quite nice. If you’re going down by the lake, you might want to take your jacket. It gets chilly when the sun goes behind the clouds.

Timothy headed for the kitchen back door where he stopped to get his jacket off the peg. From his pockets, he pulled out his skullcap and forced it down on his head. He took out his gloves and slid them on his hands. I’ll take my two-way in case you need to talk to me. I might go down by the pond too.

You be careful. There are all kinds of critters down there.

What difference does it make anyway? he thought. And left.

3

The Invasion

Clendish knew Seera was angry. What she couldn’t see was the open mouth with the upper- and lower-side saber teeth showing because the dragon’s lips were pulled tightly back in a snarling hiss. She could see the aura of her eyes that flared like an open fire. She could also see she needed to calm her down because being this upset wasn’t good for her in her present condition. Seera was physically exhausted and hurt; now she was furious. This was too much of a strain. Then, there was the meeting with the Council tomorrow, which could possibly worsen things. She must calm her down immediately.

Clendish rose and walked to Seera and stood before her with no fear in her heart. If you wish me dead, at least grant me the time to tell you what happened on that fateful day of the invasion. I can’t change it, but I can tell you about it. You can then do as you wish. I can’t stop you.

Why would I listen to your lies? Seera snarled.

Because they’re not lies. I have no reason to lie to you. I’d never lie to you.

Seera was feeling extremely weary. This night was not turning out as she had expected. She looked at Clendish with her dragon’s inner