The Blade of Shattered Hope

There was nothing good about that. Maybe they’d been trapped under rubble. Maybe they’d been struck by lightning. Maybe no one could find them because they were dead.

No! he shouted in his mind. His insides still boiled, the heat of his Chi’karda flaring up even stronger at the depressing thoughts of what might have happened. He didn’t know if he’d ever felt so scared and completely hopeless. Useless.

Jane had stayed quiet for a long moment after Frazier’s pronouncement, staring at the man with a blank expression. Then she turned to Tick.

“Then they’re probably dead already,” she said coolly. “How fitting it would be if it was your disobedience, Atticus, your arrogant, reckless use of Chi’karda that ended up killing your family. I hope you can live with that.”

Tick barely heard the words. He couldn’t hold back the Chi’karda anymore. He’d let it go too far, and now it was too late to stop it. His insides had become a roaring inferno.

Something seemed to rip deep inside of him, and he screamed from the pain. He fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. Trying to escape it, he curled into a ball and screamed again, as loudly as he could.

Everything changed.

The dusty desert around him vanished, replaced by trees.

The power and burning disappeared, as did the pain, and everything was perfectly silent, except for his quick and heavy breaths.

He was in the middle of a forest. And he was alone.

Chapter 25

Silver-Blue Light

Tick didn’t move for a long time.

The forest was dark, only the slightest traces of moonlight seeping through the thick canopy of branches above him, dappled here and there on the ground. He heard nothing but a few insects and the very distant sound of a dog barking. The woods smelled fresh and pungent, the scent of the pine trees closest to him by far the strongest. It made him think of Christmas.

Which made him think of his family, which pulled at his heart like a huge rock had been tied to it and dropped to his stomach. He ached for them, and he didn’t know how he could survive if they’d been hurt or killed. For now, not knowing anything for certain, his mind only allowed him to hold onto hope. He didn’t let anything too dark settle on his thoughts. They could be alive. There were a million possibilities for such a thing, and he held onto that.

He had to get going. He had to figure out where he’d been sent. Had he actually winked himself? That seemed the only logical explanation, but the instant he’d arrived in the forest, the flames of Chi’karda had burned out, leaving him empty. He was cold, and not just because the air in the forest was cool and wetly crisp, as if a storm might be coming. He also felt the chill of fear.

He stood up and turned in a slow circle, scanning the woods. He saw only trees, some thin, some thick, all of them crowded one after the other until they faded into obscure shadows. He closed his eyes to focus, but again, he heard only the insects and that frantic dog, still in the distance. Unless some super spy was nearby, watching him in silence, he was alone.

What had happened? His experience with winking kept the situation from being completely bizarre, but had he really done it to himself? Or had it been Sally back at headquarters? He doubted that since no one else came with him; also, it would have made much more sense to wink him to Master George’s compound in the Bermuda Triangle, not to the middle of the woods.

A lot of questions, no answers, and it was cold. He shivered, rubbed his arms, and told himself once again that he needed to get going. But the worry that he’d go in the wrong direction kept his feet glued to the forest floor.

Go, he thought. Just go. That way.

He stepped forward, but stopped when the sound of crunching ground cover startled him. He took another quick look around him. Nothing.

Shaking off his childish worries, he walked forward resolutely, moving aside tree branches and stomping down weeds. The crick-crash with every step filled the air with echoes until it almost seemed like someone was following him. He realized he was acting a little ridiculous and feeling way too paranoid. Refusing to slow again for another look, he kept going through the trees.

He’d just squeezed through two big oaks when he definitely heard something behind him: a quick but loud moan, as if some giant had awakened with a stomachache. Sucking in a breath, Tick spun around, throwing his arms out to catch his balance on the thick trees. There’d been an odd glimmer of light behind him, he was certain. But it disappeared the instant he saw it.

Silence returned, thicker than before. The moan must have spooked the insects, because they’d quieted as well. Tick felt a sudden burst of claustrophobia, there in the darkness with the trees pressing in around him.

Childish or not, he was officially scared. That stifled groan had sounded otherworldly, like a . . .

Well, like a ghost.

He turned and ran, not taking the time to be careful anymore. Branches slapped his face, and twigs and leaves scratched his skin. He didn’t stop, dodging the obstacles as best he could.

Ooooooohhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnn . . .

There it was again—the low moan. It was still behind him, but this time it lasted much longer. A flicker of terror, like icy water shooting up his throat, made him cough and wheeze. He wanted to look back. Every instinct screamed for him to look back, but he knew he’d have to slow down to do that, or he’d run right smack into a tree. Weaving, dodging, ducking, he ran on.

A flash of silvery light gleamed from behind him, illuminating the woods. Unable to fight the urge to look, Tick stopped, put his hand against a pine tree, and turned around. Once again the strange glow vanished as soon as he saw it, but he’d caught a glimpse of wispy brilliance, as if streamers of fog had magically transformed into a cloud of almost blue light.

Ooooooohhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnn . . .

The sound came again, along with another few flashes of the silver, misty beams. There was something oddly metallic about the light, making Tick think of aluminum or steel. And then it was gone.

Tick turned and ran again, swearing to himself he wouldn’t stop again until he found a person, a building, something. A policeman or a ghost hunter would be great.

Because of the darkness, he had no idea he was at the edge of the forest until he broke through the last line of trees. A sharp but short hill sloped up, and he stumbled and fell before he could slow down. His face smacked into a clod of dirt. He spit the gritty stuff out of his mouth as he scrambled with his hands and feet to move up the hill.