Chapter 6
Angel unfastened Paili’s belt, then leaped from her seat and landed in the grassy meadow with a soft thump. Candle and Listener clambered down Grackle’s outstretched neck and hustled to her side, Candle holding up the bag of bones with both hands. “Shall I take these to Father Abraham’s hut or keep them for our mantle?”
Angel touched the bag but paused. It would be wonderful to keep just one bone, maybe a little finger as a way to remember Timothy. Would it be so bad to put everything else in the garden and save one—
A flash of light caught her eye. Her companion floated around to the front of her face, a red flash strobing in its egg-shaped crystal. The eyes blinked at her, and its words melded with her thoughts. Did the Oracle give you permission to keep a bone?
Angel shook her head. But she did not say I was not allowed to keep one.
If you really believe she did not intend for every bone to be included in her command … The companion’s light dimmed. Then so be it.
Nudging the companion with her finger, Angel spoke out loud. “Your message is clear, but must the scattering in the garden be carried out during night watch hours?”
“Mother?” Candle held up the bag again. “The bones?”
She waited a moment to see if the companion would reply, but it hovered quietly for a second, then floated down and sat on her shoulder. Finally, she nodded at Candle. “Leave the bag with me. Make sure Paili gets down safely, and take care of the dragons.”
While Listener crawled under Grackle’s belly to unfasten the seat harness, Candle helped Paili climb down Albatross’s neck. “Did you enjoy your ride?” he asked.
Paili, wearing a long-sleeved white dress and thick leggings, rubbed her arms. “I lost my cloak, but it was fun.”
Angel picked up the bag and peered down a wide path through the forest that opened into the moonlit village. A young woman walked around one of the huts, stopping for a moment to look at the dragon landing area where Angel stood. She waved and then continued her stroll, followed soon thereafter by a young man.
Smiling, Angel shook her head. Emerald would never accept this suitor. She was very selective, and he was far too young. Yet, could a widow afford to be so picky? Most thought not, but Angel knew better. Emerald’s good Adam fell in battle shortly after her own did, and now she and Emerald remained the only two widows in Abraham’s flock who had not taken a new Adam. Was it wrong to believe that no man could live up to the memories of their departed loves? Probably not. Such thinking didn’t cause her to doubt the goodness of any man. It was just that none could ever be as good as Dragon. He was the best of the best.
“Acacia told us to spread the bones over the birthing garden,” Paili said.
Angel shook herself out of her trance and looked down at Paili. Her furrowed little brow meant business. “Thank you for the reminder, fair visitor. I was lost in my thoughts.”
“That’s okay.” Paili turned toward the village and narrowed her eyes. “I’m supposed to say something after the bones are spread out, but now that Acacia isn’t here, I’m not sure what to do. Maybe I should wait for her.”
“The Prophet, that is, Father Abraham, taught us that delayed obedience is disobedience. If you know what you are to say, then I see no reason to wait.” Angel tightened her grip on the bag of bones and took Paili’s hand. “Come with me.”
Paili stroked Angel’s smallest finger. “That’s a pretty ring. What kind of gem is it?”
“This?” Angel lifted her hand and pulled off the ring. “I call it a changing stone.” She held it close to Paili’s eyes. “See? It’s red now. It was white before.” She put it in Paili’s hand. “You may borrow it, but please take good care of it. I would like it back.”
Paili slid it over her index finger. The second it passed her knuckle, the gem turned white again. “Where did you get it?”
“I was born with it on my thumb. No one knows why.” She took Paili’s hand again. “Let’s go.” As they hurried toward the village, Angel called behind her. “Candle! Listener! Finish caring for the dragons and meet me in the garden.”
After reaching the village, Angel and Paili strode quietly down the deserted street, a stone path wide enough for five people walking side by side. Illuminated by lanterns hanging from poles at twenty-foot intervals, there was no concern about stumbling over one of the potted plants that lined the street.
Angel glanced at the modest huts on each side, some built with stones, others with clay bricks. Although this wasn’t her village, many of these homes were familiar, places her parents visited many times when she was Paili’s age. Even as a young adult of one hundred thirty-three, she still called on her childhood friends occasionally. But now wasn’t a good time for socializing. She had to hurry through the streets unseen and—
“Angel?”
She halted and spun around. “Emerald?”
A slender form emerged from the shadows, tiptoeing into the lantern’s light, her green eyes shining. “Cliffside is arranging a betrothal meeting with my father.”
“Oh?” Angel said. “Is that good news or bad news?”
“Bad news.” Emerald glanced behind her, then lowered her voice. “I do not know what to tell Cliffside.”
Angel looked down at Paili and pointed at a lantern a few paces away. “Please wait under the light.”
Taking Emerald’s arm, Angel led her into the shadows near the edge of the street, whispering. “What’s so difficult? Just tell him you don’t wish to be betrothed to him. Or let your father tell him.”
“I prefer to avoid hurting his feelings. Maybe I could tell him I will choose permanent servitude status. That is allowed for widows who pass the allotted time.”
Angel searched for Emerald’s companion but couldn’t find it. It must have nested in her hair. “I had no idea that you had servitude in mind. That’s a noble choice.”
“But servitude is not my choice. I want to be married, just not to Cliffside.”
Angel set a hand on her forehead. “Emerald, you’re confusing me. It sounds as if you want to speak words to Cliffside that aren’t in your heart.”
“I know!” Even in the shadows, her eyes seemed to glitter as they widened. “Something happened today that has never happened to me before, but I have been fearful of telling anyone.”
“You have no need to fear me. I have no authority over you, and we’ve been friends for many years.”
Emerald glanced left and right before focusing on Angel again. She leaned close, whispering so softly, Angel could barely hear. “I met a talking dragon today in the field beyond the birthing garden. It was so strange. He seemed more shadow than solid, as if he had no substance.”
“Like a spirit?” Angel asked. “As in the stories the Prophet has told at campfire?”
“Yes, and he asked me why I seemed downcast. I had heard the Prophet’s stories about talking dragons being wise and good, so I told this dragon of my dilemma. He suggested that I avoid hurting Cliffside’s feelings by telling him a lie. He called it a white lie, whatever that means.”
Angel tried to repeat the word “lie,” but her lips tightened. She couldn’t bear to say it. Although the word itself had passed into her ears before, it came only during worship lessons, in tales about other worlds and the dangers of forbidden speech. She never dreamed that any of her people would consider uttering a real lie.
“Emerald,” she replied slowly, “I hope you haven’t taken this notion seriously. Speaking words that aren’t in your heart is wrong. Not only that, it would get you banished … or worse.”
Pulling in her bottom lip, Emerald glanced around again before continuing. “The dragon said if no one knows of the lie, then banishment would never come. Wouldn’t it be better to speak kind words that are not in my heart, words that would not injure Cliffside’s feelings?”
Angel shook her head hard. “Feelings are not as important as truth. If you dare to bring such shame on our people, I will reveal your plan to the Prophet myself.”
Emerald’s face drooped into a pitiful frown. “I believed you to be my friend. Your harshness makes me think otherwise.”
“I am your friend. That’s why I give you harsh words. They will keep you out of danger.” Angel stood on tiptoes and scanned the village. Not a soul stirred except for Paili, still waiting patiently near the lantern. Angel raised a finger close to Emerald’s face. “Do not listen to that dragon again. Whoever he is, if he is tempting our people to lie, he doesn’t have goodness dwelling within.”
Emerald nodded. “I will think about it.”
“Think about it?” Angel turned Emerald to the side. “Where is your companion?”
Emerald backed away, a hand over her pocket. “It is …”
“In your pocket?” Angel grabbed Emerald’s wrist and pulled. The ovular crystal leaped out of the pocket and zipped in front of Emerald’s eyes, flashing wildly.
With every flash, Emerald’s head drooped an inch until her chin nearly touched her chest. “You’re right. I’m ashamed that I would consider such a foolish idea.”
As if sighing, the companion’s light slowly faded. It floated to her ear and buried itself in her hair.
“I apologize,” Emerald said, her gaze lifting toward Angel. “I have set my standards for a man so high, while I, myself, am so low. I am such a foolish child, I actually dreamed I could be—” She pressed a hand over her mouth.
“Could be what?”
Emerald let her fingers slowly fall away from her lips. “The Prophet’s Eve.”
Angel whispered sharply. “Father Abraham’s Eve?”
With a slight nod in return, Emerald shuffled back. “I have said enough foolish things. I will go now.”
Angel watched Emerald’s companion push out of her hair and rub against her ear. What might it be saying? A word of comfort? That such thoughts weren’t so foolish?
A familiar tickle in her own ear raised goose bumps. Angel’s companion was ready to speak to her mind. Verbal compassion for Emerald would be appropriate, Angel, for ideas such as hers have also entered your thoughts.
Very true, Angel replied. What woman would not want to be Father Abraham’s Eve? He is the wisest of us all. Yet, aren’t such thoughts foolish? He has told the elders that he can never take an Eve.
Her companion floated up to her eye level. Were those really his words?
In a manner of speaking. He quoted a prophecy about burning in flames before he could take an Eve. We all interpreted that as “never.”
Quite reasonable. As her companion floated back toward her ear, its whispered voice faded. Still, foolish or not, compassion is in order.
Very well. Angel touched Emerald’s arm. “Don’t think yourself foolish, my friend, when you yearn for a wise Adam. The Father of Lights is pleased when we desire wisdom to surround us.”
Emerald allowed a trembling smile to break through. “Thank you.”
“When I go to the garden, I will tell Cliffside of your dilemma. His feelings could still be injured, but your temptations will be eased.”
Before Emerald could answer, Angel hurried away and reached for Paili’s hand. “Come. We must go with all haste.”
The two ran into the village center, dashed around a low circular berm that enclosed a plot of grass, a small courtyard with a bell on a pole standing in the middle, and headed down the street on the opposite side. One man standing near a door to a hut gave them a curious glance but remained silent.
When they reached the end of the street, Angel and Paili slowed their pace and quick-marched through the forest that marked the boundary between the village and the birthing garden. As soon as they approached the clearing, a man stepped in front of them, tall and broad-shouldered. With a thin mustache and beard dressing his stern expression, Cliffside looked more vicious than he really was. “Greetings. What brings you to the garden at this hour?”
Out of breath, Angel lifted the bag of bones and stepped into the moon’s glow. “I am on a mission. I have to—”
“Ah!” His face brightened. “Angel of Peace Village. Your children have already entered.”
“Yes, Cliffside. I have been sent by the Oracle of Fire herself to deliver this to the garden.”
“By all means.” He squinted at the bag. “May I ask what this is?”
She tried to offer a smile, but it felt weak on her lips. “You may ask, but I will not answer. I have not been given leave to reveal the mysteries of the Oracle. Perhaps when she arrives, she will explain it to us all.”
Cliffside stepped away from the path. “Very well. I will be patient.”
Just as she lifted her foot to continue, Angel stopped and reached for his hand. “You are a patient man, dear Cliffside, but I have something to tell you that will test your patience further.”
His brow furrowed, but he smiled and nodded amiably. “Speak, Angel. I fear no words from the lips of a friend.”
As she rubbed her thumb along his knuckles, she tried to strengthen her own smile, but her lips wouldn’t obey. “Emerald is so concerned about injuring your heart, she cannot bear to tell you that she doesn’t want to be betrothed to you. I volunteered to tell you in her stead.”
His smile withered, but after a second or two it perked up again. “If she cares so much for my heart, then her love for me is real. It is merely dormant and needs to be awakened.”
Angel gazed into his hopeful eyes. How could she argue with him? She had neither the will nor the time to engage in a debate. And now Emerald’s desire not to hurt this fine man’s heart became as real as the charred bones weighing down her bag and the sacred duty that awaited her. “I will make an effort to speak to Emerald again and relay your thoughts. For now, I must do the Oracle’s bidding.”
“I thank you for your kindness,” Cliffside said, waving her on.
Angel studied him again. The innocence of pure virtue glowed from within, honest, trustworthy, serene. Emerald truly needed to rethink her doubts.
She touched his arm. “When you patrol the garden, you will see what we have done, but you must not disturb our work. I have the Prophet’s orders.”
He bowed. “Your word is as good as his, my lady.”
“Come, Paili.” Angel took her hand and marched across the grassy field, the wide expanse between the narrow forest and the garden. With Pegasus still high, a yellowish glow illuminated the rows of plants only a dozen or so paces away. Now that they were out of the forest, the cold breeze blew unhindered from the western border of the field where Hilidan and Zera, two massive fir trees, stood guard as gate standards for a head-high wall. The leaf pairs in the garden, enclosing precious fruit in their praying hands, waved slowly back and forth as if greeting the visitors with silent blessings.
Following a path between garden rows, two small figures ran toward Angel and Paili. “Mother!” Candle called. “What caused your delay?”
“Matters of the heart, but all is well.” When they gathered at the edge of the garden, she set the bag on the path next to Candle and stooped in front of Paili. “Is there any instruction as to how the bones should be spread?”
Paili nodded. “Enoch has given me many words for this world, and most are in song.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up at the moon, humming softly before singing a lilting melody.
Scatter them near, scatter them far,
Scatter them to the wind.
Better to trust, better to hope,
Better than plans of men.
After opening her eyes again, she pointed at the bag. “I think we just throw them into the garden.”
“But what of the plants?” Angel asked. “A miscast femur could damage them.”
Listener touched Angel’s hip. “Mother, Paili’s words are from Enoch. If he says to scatter them and trust, then all will be well.”
“A sentiment of true faith,” Angel said as she lovingly caressed Listener’s cheek. “Do I have a second companion now? One who walks like a little girl yet speaks as a sage?” She unraveled the bag’s strap and spread out the skin, then scooped up two handfuls of smaller bones and faced the garden.
As she looked out over the swaying plants, she imagined the little baby each one held in its grasp. Maybe some already clutched a companion and were being taught the laws of the Father of Lights, preparing them for birth in a climate of cold, now enhanced by the bitter winds of rebellion in both man and beast.
The thought of new companions brought back the image of Dragon’s once dormant companion as it rose to claim Timothy as its new charge. She smiled at the mental picture, yet sighed at the irony. Now she would cast his remains into the garden that brought soul and conscience together, a man stripped of flesh joining with the dust of the earth that the Great Father used to fashion his body.
“Dear Timothy,” she said, her voice quavering, “in the name of the Father above, and in obedience to his command, I scatter your bones to the soil of new birth.”
With a great heave, she threw the bones as far as she could. As they flew, the moon shone on them, bathing their white shapes in a yellow glow. A fresh breeze collided with the bundle and sent the smaller bones flying in every direction. When they disappeared on the surface, she reached for one of the larger bones in the bag. “Come children. This is a sad chore, but a necessary one.”
As Candle and Listener gathered bones, Paili sang again, this time in a mournful tone.
Forsake me not, O God of love,
And ne’er forget my tomb.
I lie and wait in cold, dark earth,
A melancholy womb.
After a few minutes, the job was done, except for one final bone. Paili lifted it, a femur, scorched and cracked. Reaching back, she heaved it into the air. It swung around three times and fell to the ground with a dull thud.
As the wind played a soft whistle, Listener took Candle’s hand. He reached for Paili’s, linking the three children as they looked up at Angel. “What now?” Candle asked.
Angel joined in and formed a circle. “We obeyed the Oracle, so our task is complete.” She looked up at the sky, then shifted her gaze to the distant hills, rolling contours on the dark horizon that signaled higher terrain far beyond. Even with the aid of a son of Pegasus, how could Father Abraham and the others possibly arrive before dawn? And if they had to scale the northern boundary of the Shadowlands, who could tell how long their journey might take? Was the Oracle’s presence necessary for this scattering of the bones to have an effect? Did this rite they performed have something to do with the warrior chief and Father Abraham’s desire to rid the world of the altered tribes?
She jerked up the empty skin, grasped Candle’s shoulder, and looked him in the eye. “Fly Grackle to our village,” she said. “Take Listener and Paili with you. Give them each a bowl of warm soup and put them both in Listener’s bed.”
His shoulders drooped. “Yes, Mother. As you wish.”
She set a finger under his chin and lifted his head. Smiling, she added, “After I speak with Emerald, I will come home, and you and I will fly Grackle together until we find Father Abraham and the others.”
Candle leaped into the air and let out a whoop. He rounded up the girls, and the three hurried toward the dragons’ launching field.
As they faded into the darkness, Angel turned her gaze back to the sky. Pegasus had passed its zenith. In about two hours it would set, and without a second moon they would have to search over a land of shadows, the desolate highlands, and maybe even the forbidden marshes in complete darkness. She shivered and rubbed her arms. And every minute of that search would take place in the bitter cold of the approaching season of death.
Billy sat back in Merlin III’s copilot seat and opened one of Professor Hamilton’s notebooks, a light brown one with “Notes for William” in block letters on the first page. With the airplane’s headset on, and the volume control turned just loud enough to hear background static, the propeller’s buzz barely seeped into his ears.
He glanced at the passengers behind him. Shiloh, sitting in the first row’s aisle seat, leaned against her father’s shoulder, asleep. Sir Patrick’s head lay propped against the window, his mouth open as he slept. On the other side of the aisle, Sir Barlow stared out the window, wide-eyed. He had already made a thousand comments about the scenery below, but now he just gazed quietly, apparently mesmerized.
Billy settled back again. With Dad at the controls, hundreds of miles to go before they reached Montana, and everyone else occupied, now would be a good time to read this notebook. Although the inscription on the title page had piqued his interest, the thought of actually turning the page sent chills up his spine.
Reading Prof’s words would be like listening to a ghost, as if the professor himself would lay a hand on his shoulder in the same gentle way he always did and once again provide the kind of wisdom he had dispensed so many times before. An emotional catharsis would be sure to follow, a crippling state he wanted to avoid in order to keep his wits about him. Still, with a few uninterrupted flight hours ahead, maybe he could recover in time for the adventure that lay in store.
He turned to the first page of notes and read the lovely script.
William, I plan to use this notebook as a collection of all my journal entries that concern you in particular. I will transfer them from my other journals along with enough context to allow for comprehension. My hope is to give this to you when our adventures together come to a satisfactory conclusion. If, however, I suffer an untimely demise, I have already included instructions in my will that bequeaths all my journals to you, save a similar collection that I am making for my daughter, Elizabeth.
I trust that these notes will help you understand more about the history behind my search for you as well as the deep, abiding love that developed as a result of our friendship and the many adventures we had together. I will never forget the day I handed you Excalibur on the floor of a collapsing underground laboratory and asked, “What now is your weapon?” I am sure that you will never forget your reply.
“Truth,” Billy whispered. “Truth is my sword.”
And when I asked, “What now is your defense?” your answer sang in my ears as the loveliest melody ever to play in heaven’s choir.
“Faith.” Billy swallowed down a hard lump. “Faith is my shield.”
And now, William, as a child of the King of kings, I trust that you understand how our fellowship will never end. Even if we part at the end of our journey, we will meet again at heaven’s gate, and we will rejoice together in the light of our savior, Jesus Christ. May the Lord bless you with wisdom as you turn the page and relive these adventures.
Billy took a deep breath. Tears were already welling. As he wiped them away with his knuckle, his father glanced over at him but said nothing. He just nodded and shifted his eyes back to the front.
After turning the page, Billy began reading about Professor Hamilton’s meeting with the Circle of Knights when they commissioned him to search for Arthur’s heir in West Virginia. Page after page flew by, each one generating new tears as they retold tales of sword battling, crossbow shooting, and dragon riding. Although each tale was familiar, the professor made them come alive once again and create fresh images in Billy’s mind, this time from the scholarly bard’s point of view rather than his own.
In addition to the lively accounts, the professor had also provided illustrations of many new discoveries along the way—a pencil sketch of Clefspeare along with detailed anatomical notes, a map of the Circles of Seven based on Billy’s description, and two photographs of Excalibur taped to a page showing each side of the great sword. Next to the photo, the professor’s careful lettering described many of Excalibur’s features, including the two fighting dragons etched into the blade. In giving details about the hilt, he noted a peculiar concern.
According to every ancient description I was able to find, the hilt’s ornate wood contained three embedded gems, two of which were clear crystal, perhaps diamonds, and one red gem, usually described as a ruby. Yet now after my experiences with dragons, and since Morgan gave Excalibur to King Arthur hoping it would be used to slay dragons, I wonder if the red gem might have been a rubellite. All three gems exist in my replica, two clear and one red, as expected, though all three are glass. As the photographs clearly show, there are two gems on one side of the hilt and an empty depression on the other, yet no third gem. Is the red gem missing? Perhaps it fell out in battle long ago, or even in one of William’s recent battles. It seems impossible to know.
Billy read the date the professor had written next to the photos. Apparently he had taken them shortly after their Circles of Seven adventures, probably the night they roasted marshmallows at the campfire.
Flipping the page, he continued with the fascinating entries. One in particular caught his eye, a poem centered on the page, set in the familiar quatrains that Merlin always used, along with a similar rhyme and meter scheme. It was as if the professor wanted to mimic his prophetic ancestor.
The virgin bride arose to fly
And found the faith to soar;
The child of doubt has cast aside
His fears forevermore.
And now the two are prophesied
To join their hands as one,
To stand at holy altars high
And kneel before the Son.
A vow, a pledge, a promise made
That never has an end,
When words of love bind knight and maid
To make forever friends.
A witness there I long to be,
The one who sings the rites,
Who blesses two to make them one
And spiritually unites.
And when the virgin lifts her veil
To give her knight the seal,
Let angels sing; let demons wail;
Let all the holy kneel.
And then forever will I rest,
My labors at an end,
And seeing all my efforts blessed,
To God will I ascend.
Billy bit his lip hard. The poem was too sad for words. Obviously Prof wanted to be there to see him marry Bonnie, even preside over the wedding, but he died too soon. To write with such vision and passion, the professor’s hope had to be consuming, maybe even an obsession. His years of searching for Arthur’s heir would come to its conclusion through the fulfillment of the ancient wedding prophecy, and now he wouldn’t be there to see it.
Sighing deeply, Billy read on. When he flipped toward the back to read the most recent entries, the handwriting changed, darkening somewhat and becoming less readable.
William, I am addressing you directly from this point on. This is a new entry, not one copied from another journal. As you know, I have long been interested in genealogies, so I traced yours quite some time ago when I began researching your past. Although the fact that your father’s ancestry was a dead end, so to speak, because of his dragon heritage, I was unable to account for a similar obstacle in your mother’s line. It seems that her father, a certain Marshall Peters, arrived in the States from England just a few years before she was born. Yet, when I searched for his records in my own country, I was unable to locate anything that would lead me to his ancestry. When we next talk, I should like to ask you more about your grandfather. If he is still living, perhaps I can find the opportunity to converse with him myself.
Billy turned the page. The remaining three or four were blank. He pulled off his headset and turned to his father, holding up the journal. “Prof mentioned Mom’s father.”
“Marshall?” His father slid his own headset down and draped it over his shoulders. “What did he say about him?”
“He was wondering about his ancestry. Any ideas?”
Shaking his head, his father squinted at one of the instruments on the panel. “I never met him. Even when I married your mother, we were unable to contact him in England to ask him to come to our wedding. We learned about his death through a telegram when you were still pretty young. It was quite a mystery.”
“Mom must know more. Couldn’t she check into his past?”
“Not really. He left home when your mother was only five. She remembers that he was a stern father but loving in his own way. When he left, she never heard from him until he visited while I was away on a multistate flight. You were only six at the time, so you might not remember. After that visit, the telegram was the only contact we ever received.”
Billy nodded. “I remember him, sort of like in a dream. He was kind of strange … really strange, I guess. But he helped me learn to draw. I still remember him teaching me how to draw a dra—”
Heat surged into his ears. A flood of images, like ghosts with warped faces, flashed in his mind’s eye. An ancient book, Fama Regis, lay on the table in his old living room, before their house burned to the ground. A hand, his father’s hand, opened it and turned to a drawing of a dragon in combat with a knight. The furious eyes of the dragon seemed to glow, yet they were little more than white dots in the center of a red pupil. This memory echoed the reality of his first glimpse of the ancient book. When he had gazed at the picture, he had noticed a striking similarity between the artist’s style and his own, especially in the dragon’s eyes.
His father cocked his head. “What’s wrong?”
“My grandfather taught me how to draw a dragon.”
“Okay. Why is that important?”
“You told me the pictures in Fama Regis were drawn by …” He swallowed through his tightening throat. He couldn’t spit out the words. A new image seared his mind, this one with sounds that brought back the nightmares of a hundred nights. A man lay in a field of snow, his body blackened by fire and his fist clenched around Billy’s coat. His face half melted by the inferno Billy had created, he coughed through his dying words. “You’re just like me, boy. You kill to get what you want.”
As the scowl burned in his memory, it morphed into the face of the man who sat next to him at a kitchen table, sketching a dragon with a white dot in the center of its pupil. “Just remember, all dragons are evil,” he had said. “Draw them if you wish, but only as the conquered enemy of a knight in shining armor.”
Suddenly every image vanished. As blood rushed away from his head, dizziness made him wobble in his seat.
“Billy?” His father leaned over and prodded his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head. “My grandfather was …” He stared at his father, barely able to form the word. “Palin!”