Circles of Seven by Bryan Davis Read Free Book Online

on number eight. It’s time to flex our muscles.”
    The professor pulled the cloak off and laid it next to a tree at the edge of the hilltop. He and Billy crouched, allowing the tree’s arching branches to shroud them in darkness. “How long till sunrise, Prof?” Billy asked.
    The professor pulled a chain from his trouser pocket and caught the watch in his palm, extending his arm beyond the shadows. The setting moon, nearly full and ghostly white, illuminated the thick blanket of clouds on the western half of the sky and cast a faint glow on the antique, analog face. “About half an hour, William.” He slid the watch back into his pocket. “The dragons’ delay concerns me. With the sun rising soon, I fear their discovery.” From another pocket he drew out a light brown beret. After running his fingers through his scattered white hair, he pressed the cap over his head. “It’s getting cooler,” he said, turning toward Billy.
    “Yeah. I noticed.” Billy felt drawn to the professor’s insistent gaze and shifted his eyes toward his teacher. The early morning mist flecked the elderly sage’s wrinkles with tiny dots of moisture.
    “Do you still sense danger?” the professor asked.
    Billy shook his head. “No. The feeling left a few minutes after we got here.” Although the prickly sensation on his skin and the boiling in his stomach had subsided, he still felt an ache, a different kind of pain deep inside.
    The professor laid his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “I have something for you,” he said, holding his other hand open. At the center of his palm lay a wide gold band with a dime-sized red stone mounted in the center. “William, I saw your rubellite ring in your suitcase. May I ask why you are no longer wearing it?”
    Billy pulled a lace on his hiking shoe and retied it into a secure, double knot. “I guess it makes me think too much,” he finally replied.
    The professor held the ring in his fingertips. His wise, old eyes gleamed under his bushy brow. “This rubellite is more than a mere bauble, William. It is a symbol of who you are; it is a connection to your heritage.”
    Billy retied his other shoe, finishing with an emphatic yank on the lace. “Well, maybe that’s the whole problem right there.” He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets.
    The professor rose with him and gently grasped his forearm. “William, you probably think that I cannot possibly understand your pain. You have lost your father, yet he continues to haunt your life as a phantom in dragon form. How can the grief in your soul ever be mended when his every appearance scalds your heart as surely as if he pierced you with a blast of fire?”
    The professor opened Billy’s hand and slid the ring onto his index finger. “Never lose hope,” he said, closing Billy’s hand into a fist. “This ring appeared at the threshold of despair, at the very moment darkness met the dawn.” The professor’s hands trembled, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t give in to darkness.” His long fingers tightened over Billy’s fist. “For the dawn will eventually break.”
    Billy’s face grew hot. His eyes moistened. He couldn’t refute a single word his teacher had spoken. Somewhere in that scaly dragon named Clefspeare the spirit of his father lived on, though the voice that growled past the sparks and flames denied that he was any longer Billy’s true father.
    The professor patted Billy on the back. “William, as your heart aches, remember this: ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’”
    Billy lowered his head. He balled his hand into a fist and rubbed his ring’s gemstone with his thumb. The rubellite was cold. It was lifeless. But it was all he had remaining of his father’s touch.
    The professor walked slowly out of the stand of trees and stood atop a low berm that encircled a huge, grassy field.
    Billy followed and mounted the embankment at the professor’s side. With his hands in