Free The White Fox by James Bartholomeusz Page A

She didn’t look as if she’d noticed the two of them were hovering several inches above the ground in the same way as Alex, and Jack wasn’t about to bring it up.
    “It has taken considerable toil and time to locate and unearth this Door,” the man continued, still looking over the pit. “And that is not to mention the lengths we went to so that you could be here with us tonight. How ironic: that a Door was to be found in the same pitiful world as the bearer of a Shard! The lock and the key placed next to one another!” He turned swiftly and grabbed Alex by the collar, pulling out the chain hanging around his neck. On the end was the crystal shard, engraved with its miniscule symbol. He yanked it down, ripping the chain.
    Blinking away the tears of searing pain, Alex saw, to his horror, the man dangling it in front of his face.
    “Just out of interest, how did you come into possession of this?”
    Alex didn’t answer. He tried frantically to twist his arms out of the invisible lock. He still could not move them and was left wriggling helplessly in midair like a wounded animal.
    The man laughed coldly. “I wouldn’t bother. You’ll only tire yourself out.” And he flung the pendant over the pit.
    It spun meticulously three times, the pointed end glimmering brightly on each revolution. As it reached the center, it froze, as if caught magnetically. It hung perfectly still for a single, inextricably long second directly over the slot in the stone. Then it plunged, daggerlike, down.
    With a high-pitched shriek, silver light rocketed upwards, shooting a column of energy into the darkened sky. It struck clouds and penetrated through them, lost, like a bright searchlight, in the deep purple shadows. The low growl of swift wind swept over the hilltop. Clouds, whipped up by a sudden gale, swept over the bald peak, swirling together to consume the stars and moon. The windstorm descended, blasting over the barren hilltop in a freezing frenzy, crunching the trees in a cacophony of searing whistling. Thunder rumbled from above, and over the surrounding hilltops talons of bright white lightning clawed at the landscape, pulverizing their points of impact in superheated oblivion.
    A deep grinding sounded, and Alex looked back down at the pit. The layers of stone were rotating slowly in alternate directions, as if pulled into a predetermined position. They halted with a heavy crunching noise, and with a crack the topmost level sunk into the second, the second into the third, and so on, seven times until they became level. The dull glow around the now connected pipes intensified, and the same vaporous light surged from the external chute through the newly aligned ones. It completed its circuit and fizzled, grinding to a halt. The silver light flickered and faded. The thunder, wind, and lightning remained.
    Now, twenty feet below them, a single circular slab lay, a shimmering, complex rune highlighted in indigo across its even surface.
    The man turned back to Alex, smirking coolly. “Lastly …” The man strode over to one of the black cloaks, who was holding an antiquated Latin-style scroll. He inspected the miniscule engravings for a moment, evidently translating word by word. “We need … blood …” He reached into his robe and pulled out a curved dagger. Still reading the inscription, he raised his arm and plunged it into the neck of another nearby black cloak.
    The figure gave a low gurgle as scarlet blood spurted around the silver insertion. The corpse sagged to the wet ground.
    Lucy screamed, and Jack gagged and vomited a little into the grass. Even the other black cloaks looked apprehensive at their leader’s impulsive murder.
    “… blood … of an innocent,” the man finished. “Ah, well.” He kicked the body, and it rolled over the edge into the pit. “He can be the appetizer.”
    There was a dull clunk as the corpse hit the bottom. Thin ribbons of corrosive steam, putrid blackness, snaked upwards from the