The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [95]
The question, more an accusation, hung in the air. But no one had an answer.
John began reading through the History and what it said about the island, which Daedalus had called Lixus. It was the color of cobalt, and nearly barren. In contrast to the heavily wooded islands they had come from, there was no visible foliage, and only great towers of stone ahead.
“Occupied by automatons, Daedalus claimed,” said Charles. “Do you think it’s possible this is where the children were taken?”
Bert scanned the island and shook his head. “I can’t see why. The Clockworks must have been under Orpheus’s direction, and so I’m clueless as to what could have brought them here, of all places. John?”
John frowned and bit his lip in frustration. “It has a great deal here about Lixus, and some notations made by Pliny the Elder around the first century, but it isn’t making sense.”
“Did you feel that?” said Jack. “My stomach jumped.”
“Not now, Jack,” Charles told him. “We’re trying to decide how to move forward.”
“Isn’t that my decision too?” said Jack. “There,” he added. “There it was again.” He crouched and placed his hands flat to the ground. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel that.”
But this time they had. There was a tremor. Then another, and another.
A worried look came over Aven’s face, and Bert and Charles each took a step backward toward the water. John was too absorbed in the History to notice that anything was amiss.
“Yes,” he murmured, pacing. “It’s starting to become clearer. There’s only one tree left on this island, and it’s in the center of those towers of stone. It may even have been the tree where the Golden Fleece once hung.”
“The one guarded by the dragon?” Charles asked as another tremor, stronger now, shook the ground. “Fine by me. I’d love to see Samaranth right about now. Or even a little dragon. Really, any dragon would do.”
Another tremor struck, this time strong enough that Laura Glue was nearly knocked off her feet.
“Hmm,” said John. “The automatons are Clockworks. It’s they who guard the tree, but there’s still an inconsistency here….”
Another tremor struck, and this time there was thunder with it.
“I think I have it!” John cried. “The problem isn’t in the translation…”
The ground shook, and the island echoed with the boom that followed almost instantly.
“It’s a misunderstanding of scale,” John finished.
Laura Glue’s scream interrupted any reply that was forthcoming from the others, as a towering figure moved into view.
A great bronze statue, nearly a hundred feet high, stepped over the companions and bestrode them like the colossus it was.
“Talos, the Bronze automaton of Crete!” Bert said breathlessly. “I’d never believed he really existed.”
“In the stories, Medea helped the Argonauts defeat him,” John exclaimed, “but it looks like he’s recovered.”
“I hate to tell you this, old boy,” Charles stammered, his voice shaking with sudden terror, “but he’s not alone.”
In the distance, several more gleaming giants moved into view. It was an army—an army of golden mechanical giants. The shaking of the ground was constant now, as was the thunderous din of their footfalls.
“Run!” Aven yelled, pointing at an opening between the towers. “We can’t stay here in the open! We need cover!”
A great bronze sandal crashed down in front of them, throwing the companions to the ground, and one of the giants seized their bundles before the companions could reach them. There was no offense they could mount, but the giants were slow. Escape was possible.
John, Charles, and the others dashed between the giant’s legs and headed for the stone towers. The other giants had closed in and encircled them, but they were too ponderous to move with any speed, and their stature was so great that there were huge gaps between their feet.
The first giant, which Bert had called Talos, reached down with a massive hand, fingers grasping, and nearly had Laura Glue—but she was nimble and slipped through.
The towers of stone were close enough to delay the pursuit of the giants, and the companions