Keeper of Reign

5. Hurry

WHEN RALSTON’S ARMS twitched and his eyelids fluttered, Jules heaved a sigh of relief. “Ralston! Get up, up.” He prodded Ralston’s rib some more and tugged at his brother’s arm to get him to sit up, but failed.

Whap! Whap! Whap! The beating wings were approaching.

Jules’s heart skipped as the flapping of the ravens’ wings became threateningly loud. They only had so much time before the ravens broke free from the dragonflies and hunted them again.

“Where’s my sardius?” Tippy materialized next to them in her de- manding voice.

Jules had a mind to smack her. Perhaps if they hadn’t dawdled trying to get that sardius out they could’ve avoided trouble. But tears welled in Tippy’s eyes and her mouth quivered. The crows were not visible but theflapping of their wings meant they were still hunting. He could try to carry Ralston but his brother was almost as heavy as he was.

“I only have one,” Tippy said.

Before he could answer, Bitha and Tst Tst slid down next to him, their faces wet with tears. “Ralston!” they said in unison.

“You girls stay here with Rals.”

And just like that he ran off in the direction of the flapping wings. If he didn’t retrieve the sardius Tippy might not leave, and if he carried her she might make a commotion a crow a mile away would hear. There were plenty of colored stones in the area. He might even stumble upon another one. When his eye caught a reddish glint lying beside a boulder he dashed to it and pocketed his find.

“Here,” he said presenting it to Tippy, although his eyes were on the lifeless Ralston. But as he brought it across Ralston the stone dropped out of his hand and hit Ralston on the nose.

“Ouch!” Ralston yelled. He bolted to a sitting position and rubbed his nose. He stared at Jules blankly. “Where am I?”

Jules jerked Ralston to his feet and propped him up with one arm. For a moment Ralston stood, tottering. “We must get away.” Jules hoped the worry would rouse Ralston out of his stupor. He didn’t seem too hurt even though his eyes looked glazed. Bitha hugged the pale Ralston, then quickly touched his head, neck and shoulders. “Did you break any bones?” Jules said, “Can you run?” Ralston nodded, even though he still swayed like a blade of grass. “C’mon, Rals.” He gestured and then grabbed Tippy’s wrist and asked her, “Can you run fast?” She rolled her eyes at him, both hands clutching her precious sardius in front of her chest. But Jules caught sight of her bleeding foot and shook his head. “Hop on my back.”

“All-wight.”

As they scrambled home, the five siblings kept glancing at the sky, afraid the ravens might reappear, but by the time they neared the oak that held their home the flapping had ceased.

“I hope Fiesty’s all right.” Tst Tst’s upper lip quivered as she spoke. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. The ravens could have eaten him.”

“Have more faith in Fiesty.” But Jules didn’t sound confident. “If it weren’t for him we’d be dead meat. At least, Ralston would’ve been. I never knew Fiesty had friends.”

“I never knew I could survive a bird attack.” Ralston looked at his bruised elbows and rubbed his knees. “I didn’t even tear my cloak. No bro- ken bones, nothing. I can hardly believe it happened to me. I must have passed out. I think I’m allergic to heights, just like you, Jules.” This was more than anything Ralston had said in a single breath his entire life.

Jules just glared at him. “What was that horrible scream?” “Maybe someone trying to scare us.” Ralston’s eyes widened. “What happened to the ravens?” Jules shrugged. “We’d better try to stay inside as much as possible.” Ralston said, “But what about food?” “I’ll sneak out. Or you can.” And he grinned at Ralston, finally relieved that no great harm was done. “Jules,” Bitha said in a worried tone, “what should we tell Mom?” “Just that it was a misfortune. Mrs. Lacework said some neighbors had seen bird aggressions. Maybe Mom will know why the ravens invaded our land.” He stared at the ground and felt his heart sink. He looked up at the branches and remembered the acorns and shuddered. What if his mother was in danger?

“Hurry!” Then he said, “Ouch!” He rubbed his forehead. “Someone pelted a stone at me.”

Bitha and Tst Tst stared at the welt that had already started to bulge. The leaves rustled overhead and a lithe figure wearing a black cape landed next to Jules. It was quite a feat for an Elfie as even the lowest branch was a few heads higher than the tall Jules.

“Miranda!” Jules said. His eyes lit up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit that hard.” The girl with hair of flaming gold who’d jumped down covered her mouth as if she was shocked and stepped closer to peer at Jules’s bruise. She brushed her golden strandsaway from her smooth, high forehead, her blue eyes locking with Jules’s green ones.

Such riveting eyes the color of the heavens. Jules thought her flowing golden hair smelled of roses and honey and everything good. He noticed the ear clip she had on. “What’s with that thing on your ear?”

“Like it?” Jules frowned. “Interesting. Hey, were you pelting acorns at me?” “Acorns? I meant to scare you. Not kill you.” She smiled up at Jules sweetly. “Could have fooled me.” Jules fingered the emerging welt above his brow and eased Tippy down. Miranda said, “You in a hurry?” She eyed Ralston and then Bitha, who was shaking her head slightly at Jules. “What are you doing out so late?” Jules said. “Maybe I was spying on my favorite friend?” She lifted an eyebrow at him. Jules reddened and stared at her. “Would your grandpa mind if you joined us? For supper, I mean.” “He won’t notice I was gone. But only if it’s my favorite—potato soup?” The boughs above them trembled and some oak leaves floated down like giant flakes. Jules scanned the foliage wondering if some ravens had rested on the branches. “Come on, it’s getting dark.”

Miranda pulled at his cloak. “No need to be so edgy.”

Jules said, “You’re in luck, hazelnut butter and potato soup.” Should he have warned Mom about the acorn incidents? But with Miranda beside him he pushed any worry away.

**********************************

In the yonder forest, perched on a cypress, Whisperer watched the group with what could qualify as disappointment on his crooked face with his crooked lips. His efforts had failed. This sort of fowl tactics worked ump-teen times before when his master ordered him on some mission.

Now he considered other prongs of attacks. The ifs and what-ifs, the whisperings, he could float in the wind. Whisperings that wafted down and instilled fear to all who heard him. This was one assignment he could not afford to blunder. Too much was at stake.

He debated over his options, his heavily lidded eyes darting from tree to tree. For a second he determined to strike the bumbling boy again, but he decided against this. He would wait for Beta and re-evaluate the problem with the latest update.

Whisperer pursed his crooked lips, his breath a gray tube of smoke that swirled toward its goal: the clouds. First softly, then more intensely, he blew. But his gaze never wavered from the struggling, lanky lad with his sister on his back.

 Beta had better find that Book, or he would find a suitable punishment for the servant.