Ordinary Joe and the Mark of Four

Sam rode a bike the same way he moved, like a kid who’d just had their stabilisers taken off. Joe clung on as if his life depended on it, and since a gigantic dragon was soaring through the street behind them, it probably did. They veered from one side of the road to the other, between cars, up and down kerbs, Sam glancing over his shoulder and shouting at the beast to go away.

Joe watched his home disappear until the burning building was only a plume of smoke rising into the grey sky. The pain in his chest had eased but his head whirled. Speeding along the streets he heard someone laughing and snapped his head round to see who it was. The streets were empty and with a jolt he realised the voice was his own. It was all so impossible he had started laughing. None of it could be real. Uncle Marty liked to sit at the kitchen table and do jigsaws and Aunt Tina sat in front of the TV scribbling away at her Sudoku. They weren’t back-flipping warriors. Giant bony Wytches and emerald dragons did not exist. There was only one explanation; it was a dream. A wave of relief washed over him. He’d wake up soon enough and until then he might as well enjoy it.

They banked the corner into the school grounds. It was already packed with parents and kids, but Sam wasn’t about to slow down for anyone.

“Honk Honk ! Out of way ! Out of way !” he bellowed, zipping through the alarmed crowds and down the lane to the schools entrance.

“What’s their piggin’ hurry?” one mum said, shaking her head, before a massive shadow fell over her. She looked up and watched in shock as the dragon soared overhead, bellowing loudly. A cigarette dangled limply from her lip and fell into the snow with a sizzle.

They sped on through the side gate and hurtled across the field onto the snow covered playground. Kids were dotted around in clumps, some playing in the snow, others pointing at the smoke rising from South Street, wondering what was happening. Sam pulled the bike into a skid by the main entrance, stopping against a pair of heavy blue doors. A boy sitting on a nearby wall jumped down and ran over to them. He was munching on a piece of toast, probably snaffled from the breakfast club and when he reached them he was out of breath and spitting crumbs. His t-shirt rose up over his protruding belly and he pulled it down looking embarrassed. Unlike the rest of the school he was wearing jeans, with the hood of his fleece pulled over his head. Joe collapsed from the bike in giggles and the boy helped him up from the snow. He gave a puzzled look at Shambling Sam, who was whipping his head around, searching the sky,

“What’s up with your boyfriend ?” the boy asked. Joe looked up and grinned.

“Reece ! You’re here ! Isn’t this cool ! I’m having a brilliant dream !” Reece pulled a face,

“You alright mate ? You look a bit... weird.” Joe shook his head, still grinning madly,

“No. No, I’m fine. Really. I thought I was going mental, but then it clicked ! I’m dreaming. It’s been REALLY weird. My Uncle and Aunt, they’re fighting these giant bone things called Wytches, and Flake can talk!”

“You’ve gotta lay off the Red Bull. It’s messin’ with your head.” Joe giggled and grabbed Sam’s sleeve.

“This is Sam, he’s here to save me. There’s this dragon chasing us, and we’ve got to find my protector.”

“Riggghhhttt ! Listen mate, let’s get you home. You look sick.”

Joe tapped the side of his nose,

“Can’t do that ! That’s where the Wytches are ! Gotta stay here and find my protector.”

“Protector ! Find ! Yes, yes !” agreed Sam. Reece pulled Joe close and whispered in his ear,

“Isn’t that the crazy guy who hangs around the shops ?” Joe nodded, then suddenly pointed over Reece’s shoulder.

“Look ! The dragon’s here !” Reece nodded. He knew how to calm someone down when they went a bit funny. When he was in school the LSAs did it to him all the time.

“Okay Joe, now I want you to take a few deep breaths, can you do that for me mate?” Joe mimed a pair of flapping wings and pointed again. Reece sighed,

“Alright, I’ll look. I know you’re messing with me, but I’ll play along. Then you’re going home okay.” He turned round. In the middle of the playground sat a wooden hut, a shaded area for when it was sunny. Squatting on top of it was an enormous dragon. Its claws dug into the roof and cut deep grooves in the wood. It raised its head to the sky and roared. Reece’s lip quivered,

“That’s.... it’s... that’s.....” He turned back to Joe.

“A dragon!” Joe said. Then other children noticed the dragon and started screaming. Everyone scattered. The dragon looked down at them without much interest, its wings beating slowly. Sam grabbed Joe’s arm,

“Inside! Playtime over!” He hauled him up the steps to the school doors, pushing through the mass of bodies trying to escape inside. Joe grinned at them. Did they think it was real? Reece was staring at the dragon. He blinked a few times then turned back to Joe, spotted he was being dragged into the school, and raced after him.

In the school’s main corridor Mrs Hepworth appeared from her office. She was a tall, thin woman who seemed to be made entirely of pointy body parts. A small pair of gold glasses sat on her pointy nose and she stared over them with narrow, suspicious eyes. She held her head high, pointy chin sticking out; thin lips pursed in annoyance, and strode along the corridor, pointy shoes clicking along the wooden floor. Over her shoulder came the deputy head teacher, Ms Greenacre. She carried a clipboard, running to keep up with the head and nodded at everything she said.

Mrs Chatterton came with them, struggling with a trolley full of books.

“Of course, I’m not saying the school policy is wrong,” she said, cheeks red and gaze dropped to the floor, “But it is Christmas Mrs Hepworth, and I’m sure the children would enjoy a few decorations around the school. Maybe a few carols instead of …” She looked up at the speakers on the wall filling the corridor with classical music. Mrs Hepworth pulled to a halt and turned to face the quivering teacher,

“This is a school Mrs Chatterton, a place of learning. We have an adequate tree in the main hall and a wreath on the main entrance. That will suffice. Children are not here to enjoy themselves; they are here to be educated. As for the music, studies have shown that children have accelerated learning when listening to classical composers.”

“Beethoven, Vivaldi and Mozart,” agreed Ms Greenacre from behind the head and scribbled on her clipboard.

“It is the responsibility of parents to celebrate Christmas at home, should they be so inclined. Our school will not distract children from their lessons with frivolities.”

“But Mrs Hepworth, it’s just a few bits of tinsel!” The Head teacher gave a thin, humourless smile,

“It may be a few pieces of tinsel now my dear, but come Summer it will be the difference between a 3c and a 3b. Are you prepared to compromise these children for the sake of some gaudy ornaments?” She waited, icy gaze boring into the defeated teacher. Mrs Chatterton shook her head. Mrs Hepworth nodded, happy to see the matter settled. She was about to give another speech about the true meaning of Christmas when Sam, Joe and Reece clattered to a halt in front of her.

“Is there a fire?” Mrs Hepworth asked sternly, “I think not, which would beg the question, why are you running down my corridors you naughty boys!” To her amazement Joe burst out laughing. He doubled over, still catching his breath. “Is something funny Mr Owen ?” Joe held up a hand, still laughing,

“You’re even worse in a dream !” Reece clapped a hand over his friend’s mouth,

“Ignore him, he’s having a funny turn,” he said. Mrs Hepworth’s eyes narrowed further, until they were cruel lines in her stony face.

“Reece Kingsley, I should have known this was your doing. Why are you here boy? Have you forgotten you’re suspended?” She shook her head and turned to Ms Greenacre, “When they’re supposed to be here they’re not and when you ban them they can’t keep away! Ridiculous behaviour !” She turned back to Joe,

“Where’s your Aunt?” Aunt Tina was the only person in school who Reece listened to and they always sent for her when he was in trouble.

“She’s not feeling herself today,” Joe said giggling. Mrs Hepworth scowled at him and waved a hand at Reece, “Wait outside my office child, I will ring your mother and have her collect you.”

“You’ll have a job,” Reece said, “She’s passed out on the sofa.” Reece was probably the only kid in school who wasn’t scared of Mrs Hepworth. He didn’t care about being suspended or excluded and thought lessons were a waste of time. His dad left school at twelve, and when his brother was born, his mum (who was fifteen at the time) left too. Soon after, the council gave them a house and they hadn’t worked a day since. They were proud of it. If their lives were so wonderful, Joe wondered why they looked miserable all the time, but he didn’t say anything to Reece. His Uncle and Aunt worked hard, but Uncle Marty loved going off to look after the village park, or up to the lake, and Aunt Tina felt the same about being at school. Maybe going to work was only horrible if you had the wrong job.

Shambling pushed Reece to one side, tired of the delay, and pointed to the doors,

“Dragon loose ! Dangerous ! Find protector now !” he said. The other teachers stepped back from the wild looking man but Mrs Hepworth stood her ground,

“Who on Earth is this?” she snapped, “Oh do tell me you’re not the supply for Year 4.” She wrinkled her nose, “And what IS that smell?” Shambling Sam sniffed at himself,

“Dog wee,” he decided. Mrs Hepworth was about to send Ms Greenacre to fetch some air freshener when the doors at the end of the corridor flapped open and screaming children bolted inside. Mrs Hepworth pushed Sam aside and strode towards the doors,

“What IS all this fuss?” she asked no-one in particular. Reece ran after her and threw himself in front of the doors,

“Please Miss, don’t go out there. There’s a dragon in the playground ! I’m not kidding.” Mrs Hepworth shook her head and pushed him out of the way,

“What nonsense! I’ve never heard such lies in all my life.” She pushed open the doors and stepped outside. For a second she held them open, stopping dead in her tracks, the dragon’s massive head peering at her, inches away. Then her hands fell limp to her sides and the doors swung shut behind her. Joe wasn’t sure why she said what she did. Probably because she was in shock or maybe because it usually worked in difficult situations.

“Put your hand up if you wish to speak to me,” she barked. There was silence and then a deafening whoosh. Flames licked under the door and paint cracked and flaked. Smoke rose to the ceiling and after a few seconds the fire alarm rang out.

Children crowded along the corridor, pressed to the windows, and though he must have imagined it, Joe was sure they cheered. Mr Richardson, the school’s P.E. teacher, came out of his classroom wearing his usual shorts and T-shirt. He blew his whistle and pushed through children to the main doors.

“What’s going on?” Joe’s eyes lit up. Mr Richardson was tall and broad with muscles like coconuts. Some children had nicknamed him “Hercules”.

“It’s you! Of course! You’re my protector! Who else could it be?” He grabbed Mr Richardson’s hand and began dragging him towards the doors. Before he knew what was happening Joe had dragged him out into the playground.

“There it is!” Joe announced happily, pointing at the dragon but Mr Richardson was looking at the doors. A black outline clearly the same shape as Mrs Hepworth was burned like a shadow into the paint. Its hand was raised as if it was telling someone off. Joe grabbed him and pulled him towards the Dragon. “Come on! Do your stuff!” Mr Richardson yanked his arm free.

“Look sunshine, I...” He stopped and stared at the dragon. It was pacing back and forth with clouds of smoke pouring from its nostrils. Its black eyes bore into him.

“Go get it Mr Richardson!” Joe shouted.

Mr Richardson fainted.

Joe stared at the teacher’s body lying in the snow,

“Oh great! Some protector you are. Fine! I’ll do it myself.” He turned to face the dragon. “I’m bored of this dream now. Time to wake up.” He marched up to the dragon and it stopped pacing and lowered its head, looking confused.

“Come on then,” he said, “Do your stuff. Burn me to a crisp.” The dragon bent closer until its scaly head was almost touching Joe. Its wings beat a few times and one clawed foot stamped angrily. Up close he could smell it. It reminded him of elephants at the zoo. Its skin was rough and cracked with fine lines, covered with a thin coat of sweat. Steam rose from its boiling throat and its hot breath snorted over Joe’s face. It smelled like old rubbish and burned wood. Powerful muscles moved under its skin.

THIS IS NOT A DREAM.

The voice in his head came again and like a tight fist, the pain in his chest returned, much stronger than before, almost making him fall to his knees. He shook his head, suddenly feeling dizzy. Was it real? He staggered back staring at the dragon. If he was awake, this thing in front of him; this living, breathing thing; was going to kill him.

Sensing its prey had weakened the dragon rose up onto its back legs and roared. Its throat bulged, preparing to let loose a fatal blast of fire, and it drew back to strike.

A yellow and blue football hit the side of its head with a comical BOING.

The dragon snaked its head sideways and roared. Reece, having thrown the ball, stood with his hands above his head, not sure what to do next.

“Tag, you’re it,” he said weakly and darted away, heading for the bins by the main doors. Despite his size he bounded up them, grabbing hold of pipes and ledges, and flung himself onto the roof. The dragon burst after him, enormous clawed feet pounding the snow, long tail whipping angrily behind. Joe scrambled through the snow and flattened himself against the sun hut, watching Reece lead the beast away. Its throat bulged and he yelled a warning, but it was too late. A fierce jet of fire streamed from the dragon’s jaws and struck the roof where Reece stood, melting the thick snow down to the tiles in furious clouds of steam and cracking glass in the windows below. When the mist cleared, Reece was nowhere to be seen. Joe swallowed hard, praying he did not see a dark outline painted across the grey slates. The dragon reared up against the wall, massive wings beating fiercely and lifted from the ground, craning its head to search for its prey. Its claws gripped the roof’s guttered edge and it roared angrily, sending a second blast of fire across the tiles.

Suddenly, from behind a row of bins below, Reece’s head appeared, and he shook snow out of his hair. He glanced fearfully at the dragon and broke from his hiding place, tearing across the playground towards Joe.

“This is mental!” he spluttered, gulping in air. His face was bright red and he bent over, resting his hands on his knees. Joe pulled himself to his feet and grabbed hold of Reece’s arm.

“Look out!” he screamed. They threw themselves into the snow and a fireball roared over their heads. The hut burst into flames. Joe jumped up, dragging Reece from the blaze and the dragon belched fire again. The explosion sent them tumbling across the ground. Before they could get back on their feet the Dragon’s massive shadow fell over them. There was nowhere to run.

“Przeszkodzic!” The voice cut across the playground like a clap of thunder. The crowds in the doorway were pushed aside by an angry looking girl. It was his cousin, Kinga.

She was using her walking stick to shove people out of the way and leapt over the rail into the playground. Dropping low she tore through the snow, twisting the top of her stick so the main body fell away revealing a long, thin sword. She wasn’t limping at all.

The dragon turned and lunged at her but she moved incredibly fast, rolling under its swiping claws, bringing her sword up to strike. There was a flash of sparks and the dragon grunted, stamping down a huge clawed foot. The snow exploded where Kinga had stood, but she was already gone, rolling between the creatures legs and striking out again.

A horrible screech came from behind the school and Joe was horrified to see two Wytches staggering into view. They smashed through the school’s fence, bending the metal like straw, and lurched into the playground. Kinga cursed. Whirling around the angered dragon, she struck again and again, but the sword glanced off its tough skin in a flurry of sparks.

At the entrance people spilled from the doors, pushing Sam into the playground. He stared goggle eyed at the Wytches before turning and running towards Joe, shouting something which was lost in the din.

“Kretyn!” Kinga yelled, “Get back!” She rolled backwards, landing in a defensive crouch and looked from the dragon to the approaching Wytches. Above the houses to the south a second dragon appeared, beating its wings furiously and streaking towards them. Cursing, she lifted her hand and muttered a stream of words that sounded nothing like English or Polish. Joe thought it was like she was singing. A curl of colourful sparks circled her hand. Her face was a mask of concentration and the words became faster and faster until a ball of light covered her fist. She yelled out and unclenched her fingers.

Energy exploded in all directions. Long multi-coloured streams boiled the snow to steam and jagged lances of light leapt to the clouds. A fierce cluster of blinding light surged into the chest of the hovering dragon and threw it back across the playground. It hit the ground with a thump, wings beating helplessly, and rolled twice collecting snow, crashing against a wall.

It was over in seconds. Kinga collapsed into the snow, clutching her arm. Flames flickered and died on her sleeve where a few spikes of energy had scorched a hole and her skin blistered around a long cut edged with burned blood. She muttered something in Polish and Joe guessed it wasn’t anything nice.

“I don’t think this is a dream mate,” said Reece. From the school field the Wytches hobbled closer, swaying and stumbling as if they were dizzy, but they would soon reach Joe and the others. At the edge of the playground the dragon was beginning to stir and overhead the second dragon roared and dropped towards them from the sky. Sam shambled up to them, pointing at it wildly,

“Another one! Bad beast!” he wailed.

Then, amazingly, a small ball of light appeared in front of the surrounded group, hovering in mid-air. It grew bigger, spinning around, until it became a long upright oval. Its edges crackled with the same power still tracing Kinga’s fingers. In its centre swirled a green blur, slowly forming into a shape. Kinga pulled herself to her feet, holding on to Joe for support. She stared at the glowing hole,

“Maven ?” she whispered.

Reece ran around the glowing oval,

“What is it?”

“Jump hole! Portal!” said Sam, breaking into a crazy grin, “Escape! Escape!”

“Go through,” said Kinga, “No time now.” She gripped Joe’s arm and looked at him fiercely, “On the other side, do not move. Stay. I will find you.”

The Portal crackled and spat, blinking on and off.

“Go where?” said Joe, “Is it safe? It doesn’t look safe! Why is it flickering like that?”

“Not safe, no focus! No time,” Kinga said, “But no choice.”

“Where does it go?” Joe said.

“Antigol,” said Sam, “Father!”

“My father’s dead!” Kinga shook him,

“No. Is alive. We go now.” Reece stepped up to the portal,

“Cool. Let’s do it!” Kinga pushed past Joe and dragged Reece back,

“No. Not you. You stay.”

Reece glanced up at the hovering dragon and back to the Wytches, now only a few steps away,

“What! You can’t leave me here! Joe!”

“I go, he goes,” Joe said. Kinga snarled,

“Przeklenstwo!” She shook her head, “Babysit two now!”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Reece said, scowling, “I’m eleven!”

Before they could argue, Sam wrapped his arms around them and pushed them towards the portal,

“Chat chat later! We go now. Run!”

“Wait!” Joe shouted, trying to stop the frantic man, “She said it’s not safe!” Sam looked up at the Wytches, reaching with their clawed hands, and the emerald dragon, rising to its feet, smoke pouring from its nostrils.

“Stay here, munch munch! Go there, maybe fall off cliff. Choose cliff!” With a yell he threw them into the shimmering hole. A second later it was gone.

As the first fingers of sunlight crept over the horizon, the city of Hatriila lay in ruins. The heavy storm moved north to the cresting mountains of Formandyse and only a handful of fires still burned. Curling smoke covered the roads like mist.

Avarat sat in the throne room, hunched on the King’s throne with his head dipped. The only sound was the drumming of his fingers on the arm rests and his heavy laboured breath. At his feet knelt his advisor, Kozane, waiting patiently for his master’s permission to rise. Avarat waved his hand and the man rose to his feet.

“Today was to be our victory day,” Avarat said, “Ten years I have waited and still I am denied my birth right! Did you see their wretched King, hidden away while his army burned in the streets? These people should be thankful I ended his rule.”

“You rule the four Kingdoms my Lord,” Kozane said, “It is unprecedented.”

“It’s not enough!” Avarat roared, “I want it all!” Kozane remained motionless, as if carved from stone. Avarat watched him for a moment, their eyes locked, until the anger drained away. He sighed,

“Hatriila may have fallen, but its people do not accept my rule, not while the King lives. They are still loyal, despite his lies,” he shook his head, “The boy was supposed to be dead. They mourned him! I remember when I heard the news. Oh what a day that was! But it was a lie!” He thumped his hand into the throne. A smile touched his lips. “They were wise to hide him among the shades.”

“A minor inconvenience, the boy will be found.” Avarat looked up, no longer angry, but weary,

“When Kozane ? How long will it take? Days? Weeks? Months?” His hand rose to his chest, “Look at me. How long can I last?” Kozane’s face remained unreadable, but Avarat knew he shared the concerns of many. With each claimed realm his condition worsened and in ten years he had aged fifty. The decay started slowly, his face becoming ghostly pale, hair thinning and crawling back along his scalp, but over the years it worsened. He woke each day with fresh cuts over his body, small when they first broke his skin, but growing longer and deeper until he was covered with raw wounds which refused to bleed, instead weeping rank yellow pus.

“Soon you bring the four together,” Kozane said, “You will not have to suffer once the Majiak is complete.” Kozane was only trying to reassure him but it was unclear if taking the final fragment of power would end his suffering. Only one man had carried the four and survived, King Dreidlor of Groll, and even he hadn’t carried the power long before it destroyed him. Still, he had held it, and even now his name was spoken in fearful whispers, though thousands of years had passed since his death. One day they would whisper Avarat instead.

“I have spoken to the council,” Kozane said, “They wish to interrogate the King. The existence of a Majia gate has caused them concern.” Avarat laughed. It amused him to think of the Council, hidden away in the Crystal Citadel, too grand to concern themselves with the affairs of the realms, suddenly feeling Antigol slipping from their grasp. He wished he could have seen their faces when they learned Hatriila had hidden a Majia Gate from them and used it to travel to Earth. Kozane was wrong; they weren’t concerned, they were scared.

“Are they asking me to send them the King, or ordering me?” Avarat said. Kozane looked puzzled,

“Is there a difference my Lord?” Kozane was emissary to the council and could not imagine their orders being opposed. For ten years Avarat had bowed to their every demand. Now he ruled the four kingdoms, they would bow to him.

“What of your friend Maven? The King could not have hidden the gate without his help.” Kozane curled his lip,

“Maven is no friend of mine,” he said, “The council have issued a warrant for his arrest.” Kozane denied it but he had once been a friend to Maven. Both were high lords of the Council of Twelve, though Maven was their favourite son, until the discovery of the Gate. Their history ran back to the parting. How had they lived so long in Antigol? He shook his head; time was too short to dwell on trivial matters.

“What of the boy?”

“A small force was sent to the shade world,” Kozane said, “The boy was found, though not harmed, and driven back to Antigol.” Avarat nodded,

“Good. We must move quickly. He will not survive long here. If he dies before we reach him, all may be lost.”

“There is no corner of the four realms in which he can hide. He will be found quickly, I have no doubt.”

“He will try to find his father.” Avarat paused, thinking, “I consent to council’s request. Prepare a prison wagon and send the King to them. Tell no-one. Let them think he rots in his own dungeons.” Kozane bowed his head,

“As you wish.” He paused, “And the Queen?”

“She stays here,” Avarat said, “If the boy believes we have his parents he will come to us.”