Read Online Rise of Allies (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 4) by E.G. Foley - Free Book Online
Authors: E.G. Foley
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began applauding wildly, cheering, as Jake stood up, dizzy, from his seat. He felt as though his knees were made of jelly.
From the edge of the field below, Derek turned and pointed at him in greeting, as if to say, There you are! Beside him, Maddox St. Trinian studied Jake with a long, intent stare—until he noticed Isabelle. Then he looked at nothing else.
But Derek waved and started clapping heartily. “Hear, hear for Lord Griffon!”
Jake practically scowled at his mentor. It was a little late for Derek to be giving him the encouragement he had so desperately needed before. Ah, well. Now he would find out if he could indeed get through this on his own.
No parents. No Derek, no Red. No Henry and Helena to watch his back. No Aunt Ramona, no Gladwin. No Archie or Izzy or Dani helping him out in their own particular ways.
This time, it was just him and the moment of truth, with the whole world looking on. But he supposed that was the point of all this, anyway. He was growing up, and it was time to find out what he was really made of.
His limbs felt wobbly as he squeezed across the aisle in front of the others, reached the steps, and then walked down the aisle to the field.
“Good luck, Jake!” Dani called.
“Be calm, stay centered,” Aunt Ramona had advised him earlier. Easier said than done.
Isabelle waved her handkerchief in a ladylike show of support, but Jake still felt like he wanted to puke.
Down the bleacher stairs he went in a daze, across the gravel surrounding the Field of Challenge. Then he took his first momentous step over the thick chalk line.
And tripped a bit, of course.
Nervousness made him clumsy as he stepped onto the field. Humiliating! Can’t you even walk right? He paused, remembered to breathe, his heart thumping like the mummers’ drums of May Day. Then he squared his shoulders, steadied himself, and marched on, beginning to feel more normal.
Until he got close enough to the Old Yew to make out, for the first time, the gnarled old-man face in the ancient tree trunk. Good Lord. Jake took one look at it and stopped in his tracks.
He had known the Old Yew was a person, but for some reason, he had not thought about a face. That was how it was with trees, though. Sometimes you could see the faces in them, other times not.
It was most disconcerting, in any case. Especially since the Old Yew was staring right at him, matter-of-factly.
Somehow Jake collected his wits again and pressed on until he reached the spot where he bowed to all the powers-that-be.
Meanwhile, Sir Peter was clearing the Field of Challenge once more with another wave of his wand. Nixella Valentine’s ruined mud-rabbit and the puddle that had spawned it both evaporated.
“Ah, there you are,” Sir Peter greeted him brightly after completing his spell. He laid hold of Jake’s shoulder and spun him about none-too-gently.
Jake gulped as he beheld the sprawling sea of spectators. There must have been a thousand people watching.
“Not yet, Sir Peter, we should like to speak to the boy for a moment,” a deep, scratchy voice said behind him.
“Why, of course, Your Serene Leafiness.” His captor whirled Jake around again.
The row of Elders in their elevated chairs were inspecting him with curiosity, and Sir Peter gave him a slight shove toward the Old Yew.
“Go and pay your respects, boy,” he ordered under his breath.
“Y-yes, sir.”
The towering tree in the center of the Elders’ seats studied Jake with an unblinking stare.
As he moved forward, he kept a respectful distance, mindful not to step on the Old Yew’s toes, as it were; its gnarled roots spread out for some yards around the massive trunk.
“So…Jacob Everton, the Lost Heir of Griffon,” the ancient tree greeted him in a deep, raspy old-man voice, with slightly mulchy breath, while the spring breeze stirred in its branches, from which birds came and went as they pleased.
Jake blinked.
“And now he has been found,” the tree said in a
From the edge of the field below, Derek turned and pointed at him in greeting, as if to say, There you are! Beside him, Maddox St. Trinian studied Jake with a long, intent stare—until he noticed Isabelle. Then he looked at nothing else.
But Derek waved and started clapping heartily. “Hear, hear for Lord Griffon!”
Jake practically scowled at his mentor. It was a little late for Derek to be giving him the encouragement he had so desperately needed before. Ah, well. Now he would find out if he could indeed get through this on his own.
No parents. No Derek, no Red. No Henry and Helena to watch his back. No Aunt Ramona, no Gladwin. No Archie or Izzy or Dani helping him out in their own particular ways.
This time, it was just him and the moment of truth, with the whole world looking on. But he supposed that was the point of all this, anyway. He was growing up, and it was time to find out what he was really made of.
His limbs felt wobbly as he squeezed across the aisle in front of the others, reached the steps, and then walked down the aisle to the field.
“Good luck, Jake!” Dani called.
“Be calm, stay centered,” Aunt Ramona had advised him earlier. Easier said than done.
Isabelle waved her handkerchief in a ladylike show of support, but Jake still felt like he wanted to puke.
Down the bleacher stairs he went in a daze, across the gravel surrounding the Field of Challenge. Then he took his first momentous step over the thick chalk line.
And tripped a bit, of course.
Nervousness made him clumsy as he stepped onto the field. Humiliating! Can’t you even walk right? He paused, remembered to breathe, his heart thumping like the mummers’ drums of May Day. Then he squared his shoulders, steadied himself, and marched on, beginning to feel more normal.
Until he got close enough to the Old Yew to make out, for the first time, the gnarled old-man face in the ancient tree trunk. Good Lord. Jake took one look at it and stopped in his tracks.
He had known the Old Yew was a person, but for some reason, he had not thought about a face. That was how it was with trees, though. Sometimes you could see the faces in them, other times not.
It was most disconcerting, in any case. Especially since the Old Yew was staring right at him, matter-of-factly.
Somehow Jake collected his wits again and pressed on until he reached the spot where he bowed to all the powers-that-be.
Meanwhile, Sir Peter was clearing the Field of Challenge once more with another wave of his wand. Nixella Valentine’s ruined mud-rabbit and the puddle that had spawned it both evaporated.
“Ah, there you are,” Sir Peter greeted him brightly after completing his spell. He laid hold of Jake’s shoulder and spun him about none-too-gently.
Jake gulped as he beheld the sprawling sea of spectators. There must have been a thousand people watching.
“Not yet, Sir Peter, we should like to speak to the boy for a moment,” a deep, scratchy voice said behind him.
“Why, of course, Your Serene Leafiness.” His captor whirled Jake around again.
The row of Elders in their elevated chairs were inspecting him with curiosity, and Sir Peter gave him a slight shove toward the Old Yew.
“Go and pay your respects, boy,” he ordered under his breath.
“Y-yes, sir.”
The towering tree in the center of the Elders’ seats studied Jake with an unblinking stare.
As he moved forward, he kept a respectful distance, mindful not to step on the Old Yew’s toes, as it were; its gnarled roots spread out for some yards around the massive trunk.
“So…Jacob Everton, the Lost Heir of Griffon,” the ancient tree greeted him in a deep, raspy old-man voice, with slightly mulchy breath, while the spring breeze stirred in its branches, from which birds came and went as they pleased.
Jake blinked.
“And now he has been found,” the tree said in a
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