Rise of the Fallen Page 2

  “It was a very good painting,” Mr. Frandle interjected. “Don’t let Mrs. Smithers tell you otherwise. She shouldn’t have expelled you from school. It wasn’t right. You’ve got talent, and that intimidates people. She’s had it in for you since the day she drank herself into oblivion, and tore apart her own classroom and blamed you. I tried getting the town council to let you back in school, but Mrs. Smithers has to have her way or she won’t teach.”

  Andrew forced a smile. “Things are better this way. I can help my father more now. And to be honest, I never really liked school. I would much rather be outside.”

  “Awe, well, it still doesn’t make it right.”

  “I don’t mind it all that much. Being alone has its benefits.”

  “Yes, to be sure.” Mr. Frandle stopped in front of his sod-roofed house and opened the door. “You’re welcome to come in and have some lunch.”

  Andrew shook his head. “Thanks but I have some things I need to do.”

  “I see. Well, goodbye. And take care of yourself. Don’t let Mrs. Smithers bother you. For being so afraid of magic, she’s sure a witchy lady.”

  Andrew laughed, waved to the kind man, and turned away. He walked down a well-worn path, with the ruined painting in the crook of his arm. He smiled to himself as he glanced at the flowers on the side of the path, that raised their heads as he passed, and the trees that straightened to attention, as if he was an important general. It was nice knowing that if at least people didn’t respect him, the plants did.

  In a way, he felt bad for Mrs. Smithers. Everything she had said was true---to a point. He knew he should have told the towns’ people the truth bout the tree growing up from his desk. But his father had sworn him to secrecy. He had promised never tell anyone what had happened----or that he had caused the tree to vanish back into the seed from which it had sprung, thus saving himself and his family from being dubbed a danger to the Hollow. However, the children knew what happened. They knew he had lied. Yet, without solid proof, the danger of Andrew being discovered by the adults of the Hollow wasn’t imminent, only lurking, like a fatal disease gone into remission.

  Andrew was older since the Tree incident. He knew better than to do those things in front of people. When he was younger

  he didn’t know any better. But now, things were different. He did most of his work in secret. He had his vices, to be sure. He did do a few practical jokes every now and again, and a few well-meant pranks to teach the bullies in class a lesson. But he had left all that behind…for the most part. Mrs. Smithers finally had her way, and he was now permanently kicked out of school. He knew his actions weren’t without consequence. Most of the kids shunned him, and for good reason. They had seen what he could do. He would have had a very lonely existence in the Hollow if it hadn’t been for Talic Seaberry, and Freddie Muffin who had moved into the Hollow. They were two merry-hearted boys, who knew practically nothing about Andrew’s history in the Hollow. They had taken a liking to Andrew and treated him like an equal, which was really nice.

  Andrew carefully darted down a narrow path through the field of hollyhocks. The wind blew the long stems and made the pink flowers dance like a magical painting.

  Andrew breathed on a closed hollyhock blossom, watching in wonder as it slowly opened, petal by petal. He wondered if his life would unfold just as that blossom. Today was the last day he would be fifteen. All the years before had passed away like a dream, with the ever-growing yearning to prove that he was much more than a stupid boy who had been kicked out of school, only to find that everything he did only made that assumption more fixed. He wondered if on the day of his sixteenth birthday, he would magically grow wiser and stronger? Would his lean body, slightly curly chocolate-brown hair, and elfish ears be the same as they always had?

  Too bad he couldn’t speed things up and prove to the world that he was a man, that he was worthwhile, that he wasn’t dumb, or dangerous like Mrs. Smithers led so many people to believe.

  He frowned and looked at his hands. The strange diamond shapes that had been in his palms ever since he could remember were growing more defined, day by day. At each of the diamond points were small round dots. At times, Andrew thought he'd seen the odd dots and diamond shapes glow like silver. When he was younger, the strange shapes had been mere creases in his hands, but now they were almost distracting. If he held his hands at an angle, the marks would catch the light of the sun, and gleam like silver.

  His mother, Gwyn Griggs, often said the marks in his hands were some sort of harmless ringworm. Andrew didn't think the marks in his hands were ringworm; they were weird, glittery, and not normal.

  Andrew set down the ruined canvas, paused, and stared at a hollyhock that had been snapped in half. The flowers on the snapped end were wilted, and its leaves were shriveled. He lifted the broken end, and placed the stem back where it had snapped, holding it tightly together. His hands grew warm as energy passed through them, healing the plant and making it whole again, causing the drooping flowers to fill with new life and its shriveled leaves to renew. He smiled with satisfaction.

  At least he was good at something, even if it was as simple as making something grow. He ran his fingers through the rich earth, listening to the plants all around him growing. He picked up a stray daffodil bulb he’d found in the soil, and held it cupped in his hands. It felt warm and full of life. He put it back into the ground and placed his hands over the earth until he felt warmth from his hands go into the earth. Seconds later, the bulb sprouted, its yellow flower budding before his eyes. The flower smelled wonderful.

  “What are you doing?” the voice of Gobo---a boy who detested Andrew with a passion asked, shoving Andrew, causing him to fall and crush the flower he’d just planted.

  Andrew looked at Gobo in disgust. The fat contours of Gobo’s snobbish face looked pig-like and repulsive, like he was more warthog than boy. Without answering the boy, Andrew rolled off the crushed flower, and inspected the damage.

  Gobo smiled, watching Andrew’s apparent concern for the smashed flower, with great amusement. “Oh, I’m sorry. I made you smash your flower. I forget that you’re such a pansy.”

  “Just get out of here,” Andrew said, through gritted teeth. He wanted Gobo to leave so he could fix the flower without him watching.

  Gobo shook his head. “Nope. I think I’d rather watch you.”

  “No. I’m sure you’d rather not.” The flowers, and trees around them, shivered, and leaned in, as if to frighten Gobo.

  Gobo snickered. “You don’t scare me with your plants, Andrew. I know your secret, and if you do anything to me, I’ll tell everyone.”

  “They won’t believe you.”

  “You’d be surprised how many people already believe Mrs. Smithers---about the things that happened in her classroom. One wrong move, Andrew and you and your family will be run out of this place.”

  Andrew glared at Gobo, the grass around the boy turning brown as if Andrew’s stare was causing it to shrivel. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I would. Besides, everyone knows what a coward you are. You couldn’t really fight anybody without the help of your trees, weeds, and flowers.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Prove it.”

  Andrew clenched his fists, and took a swing at Gobo’s face.

  Gobo, ducked and planted his knuckles into Andrew’s stomach, throwing him into a host of tall hollyhocks, smashing them.

  Andrew tried to stand, but Gobo caught him in the side of the jaw, knocking him back down.

  “You’re gonna die!” Gobo cried, getting on top of Andrew, cuffing him over and over, with little mercy. “Don’t think I don’t know who caused the weeds to trip me just as I was about to win the stick pole tournament. I ought to dig up your garden and bury you in it, after I've killed you!”

  Angry, Andrew tried to move, but Gobo had him pinned to the ground just like another bug in Gobo’s collection. The boy was heavy. He weighed much more than a boy should at his age. G
obo cuffed him again, causing Andrew’s nose to spurt blood. “Not much without your plants, are you?”

  Andrew clenched his bruised jaw, and spat blood in Gobos face.

  “Aggh,” Gobo cried, wiping the blood off with his sleeve. “You’re going to pay for that.” As Gobo raised his fists to strike again, Andrew’s eyes filled with a silvery green hue, as a surge of energy ran through his entire body like wind was rushing through him and out his hands. Before Gobo knew what had happened, Andrew threw him off and onto his back.

  “You can’t hurt me,” Gobo whined, his eyes widening in fear at Andrew’s sudden burst of strength. “Or I’ll tell everyone everything. Don’t think I haven’t spied on you. I know all of your secrets.”

  “You know nothing!” Andrew squeezed Gobo’s fat arms, feeling his hands grow suddenly warm. Gobo let out a terrible scream and pulled away from Andrew, writhing in pain.

  Andrew let Gobo go, confused. His anger left him as swiftly as it had come. He wondered what he'd done. He looked at his hands. The odd diamond shapes shimmered and gave off steam.

  “Oh,” Gobo groaned, writhing on the ground, like the worm he really was. “You’ve burned me. Burned me. Oh my arms!”

  Andrew gasped, staring at Gobo’s arms. There were two red diamond-shaped marks, with small circles at each point, burned into Gobo’s skin. The marks on both arms were beginning to blister, like he'd been branded like a cow.

  “Ohhh!” Gobo cried. “You are dead Andrew, dead!”

  Andrew felt a sudden stab of fear. He hadn't meant to hurt Gobo—at least not that much. It was all too strange for him. He quickly turned and ran as fast as he could, past trees, over rocks and under old bridges, until Gobo's screams were lost far behind. Panting hard, he turned and ran down the path that led to Lime Juice Springs. As he neared the water, he could see his friends, Talic and Freddie, sitting in the reeds, watching.

  Talic held up a string of fish, their light-green scales sparkling like emeralds in the sun. “Looky here. See what Freddie and I have caught without you.” Talic had a comical expression on his expressive face. His dark hair was pushed up into a continual cowlick.

  “Nice,” Andrew said, bending over to catch his breath. “Hope you saved some for me.”

  “Sure. But why were you running?”

  “Gobo.”

  “Oh. Now I understand. You need not say more. Looks like he did a number on your face.

  “My,” Freddie exclaimed, his somber face clouding as he inspected Andrew’s bruised appearance, bloody nose, and black eye. “What'd you do to make Gobo so mad?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Andrew replied, snatching a bouncing grasshopper in the reeds, and holding it cupped in his hands. Its feet tickled his skin as it tried to escape.

  Freddie held up a spare fishing pole, and Andrew threaded the grasshopper cleanly onto the hook. “Thanks, Freddie.”

  “Shh!” Freddie put a finger to his lips, leaned back in the rushes, and dusted off a spider that had crawled into his sandy colored hair. “You’re gonna scare all the fish away.”

  “It’s what I do best,” Andrew murmured, casting his line out into the water, and settling himself comfortably in the reeds by Freddie and Talic. “Scare things.”

  “You only scare me some of the time,” Talic interjected, shaking his pole up and down, trying to disturbed the dragonfly that had settled on its tip.

  “Only some of the time?”

  “Yeah, like right now, when your nose is all bloody, and you look like a war victim. You should really wash your face.”

  Andrew laughed, as he shoved Talic and splashed water onto his face, scrubbing the blood and dirt off. The warm water relaxed him. He sat back, holding his pole, and yawned, soothed to sleep as he listened to the soft murmur of Feebe bugs clicking their wings together. They sounded like the low chime of small bells, feebe, feebe, feeebeebee.

  Andrew awoke with a start as his pole was yanked from his fingers. Alarmed, he sat up and splashed through the water after his departing pole. He could see the rod slowly sinking into the lake. He grabbed the end, just before it sank into the water, and pulled. “I’ve got a fish, guys!” he cried, tugging the bending pole. “It’s a big one.”

  However his friends did not answer.

  “Guys?”

  He turned, gazing at Freddie and Talic with curiosity. They both stood transfixed, staring into the lake of limewater, with frightened eyes.

  He was about to ask what was wrong, but the water grew very warm, bubbling up around him, like a volcanic pothole. It distracted him so much that he lost his grip on the tugging pole. It slipped from his hands, and disappeared into the water.

  He slapped his fist on the surface of the bubbling water, angrily. “Dang, I lost my pole.” The water splashed up, and bubbled around him even more, as somewhere deep in the earth, a volcanic movement warmed the water, and made the lake fizz and burp, as if it was a boiling pot of stew---a phenomenon that only happened when very bad things were about to occur. Andrew had never seen it bubble. He and his friends had only heard of it happening. It had happened the day before a terrible storm had hit the Hollow, nearly killing a hundred people. It had happened long ago, just before a terrible drought. And it had happened the day the king’s son had vanished.

  The fish in the lake started to roll and splash over the water like it had become much too hot for their liking. Andrew had to agree, the water did feel a bit hot. He trudged from the lake, onto the bank, watching the water with a sense of foreboding. What bad thing would happen? What terrible omen did this lake now herald?

  “Look, Andrew!” Freddie said, pointing beyond the lake to the horizon. “What’s that?”

  Andrew watched as an orange flame shot up from somewhere in the distance. It grew in size, spreading into a long orange line on the ground, reflecting in the green lake. It looked weird, and frightening. Just as the sun set, the flames grew bigger, flickering angrily against the dark sky, emitting huge masses of smoke that curled up, like a feathery, ominous flag.

  Talic’s eyes glinted with fear. “Tromburg?”

  Andrew returned Talic’s worried glance and nodded. “That’s the only thing it could be. Look at those flames!”

  “My uncle lives in Tromburg,” Freddie murmured. “I hope he’s okay.”

  “We should warn our families,” Andrew cried, turning with his friends, and leaving the lake. They quickly separated, running down the streets of the Hollow, banging on doors and shouting the news of the fire.

  “Father!” Andrew cried, bursting through the door of his house. “Tromburg! Tr—omburg, is burning!”

  “What?” his father asked, looking up from his book.

  “Tromberg...” Andrew panted. “It’s burning…burning!”

  Mr. Griggs ran to the door, his face going pale as his eyes met the frightening scene. Great orange flames licked up from Tromburg, filling the air with the most unpleasant smell of smoke. The piercing voice of the town crier was heard, wailing in a woeful voice as he wandered up and down the streets. “The Sontars come! They come, to snatch your firstborn sons and daughters. Flee! Flee!”

  In the distance, the sound of drums and muted cries of their neighbors were heard.

  “Gwyn!” Mr. Griggs shouted. “Gwyn. Come here. Andrew has to leave!”

  Andrew’s mother, Mrs.Griggs, immediately appeared at the door. “Leave?” she wondered. “Now?”

  “Yes. Now. Tromburg’s burning. Troops could be at our door any second now.”

  She nodded. “Yes, yes, you’re right! I’ll get his things…” A moment later she came back, bearing a small knapsack, which she handed to Andrew. “Here, take this.” She hugged him tightly. “Go now. There’s no time to waste.”

  “Goodbye, Andrew,” Andrew’s father murmured, grasping him by the shoulders, and staring into his eyes for a moment. “Run as far from this place as you can. Understand?”

  “Yes…?” Andrew looked at his parents, a terrible lump forming in his throat.
“Goodbye.” He turned and ran out into the night, to the only place he could think of---the hollyhock fields. Once there, he stopped to catch his breath. The sounds of screaming cut through the dark night, like sharp cat claws ripping through a black curtain. The Hollow had never had such terrifying sounds fill its streets. He glanced down at his hands. They were glowing a silvery blue in the dark, and they hurt like crazy.

  He crouched down amid the hollyhocks and covered his ears as the horrible sounds grew louder. Where should he go now? The Sontars were sure to be in the streets, searching for people like himself. He was trapped. Not knowing what else to do, he quietly took his pack off and pulled out a small note. He held the palms of his glowing hands up to the paper in order to see the words. The note read: “Son, you are not who you think you are. In this pack you will find the answers to every question you’ve ever had about the amazing abilities you possess. Goodbye, son, and remember that everything you know, or didn’t know, was for your own good. We hope that in this sheltered spot of land you have grown deep roots to weather the great storm ahead of you.”

  Love, your parents, Mr. and Mrs. Griggs.

  Andrew stared at the note, perplexed. What did it mean? He paused for a moment and then pulled out a silver compass from his pack. The compass had a long golden chain tied to it. Its round rim was studded with rubies. The topmost part of the compass, where it should have read: North, it read: “No return.” And where it should have read West, read: “Windy Ways, East---Eagles nests, South---Slumber.”

  How very curious, he thought, placing the compass back in the sack, then pulling out a large scroll stamped with a waxen seal in the shape of a diamond. He held his hand up to the seal, noting that the diamond shape in his hand matched it exactly. He broke the seal and slowly opened the scroll. Holding up his hand to see the parchment better, he read, “To Andrew, Our only and most Beloved Son. To be read by your eyes, only.”