BenCrowder.net

Chapter One

Heat waves sizzled the sidewalk on a hot July day one summer. The children who usually swarmed the streets with their games were all inside. All, that is, except for one boy, a small thing with tousled brown hair and freckles.

Charles could feel the sun burning his freckles, could almost feel the skin turning red. The lemonade stand he sat behind was built from leftover cardboard boxes he had found while scrounging around the garbage dump a few blocks away. Business was slow. It felt like hours since his last customer.

Then two younger kids, probably four or five years old from the look of them, rode up on their tricycles. They got off and came up to the stand.

“Charlie, you’re supposed to come with us.”

Charles blinked. “How did you know my name?”

The two children — a boy and a girl, both about the same height, both with curly blonde hair — stared at him with deep eyes that seemed to be seeing beyond him. “Charlie, it’s time,” said the girl.

“Time for what?” He looked at his watch. It was almost three o’clock.

“Time for the change,” the boy said. “You need to come with us.”

“Come with you where? Who are you?”

The girl frowned. “We can’t tell you. Yet, at least. But you need to trust us. We won’t hurt you.”

Charles remembered something his mother had told him about not going anywhere with strangers, but for some reason these two didn’t feel like strangers. He wondered if he’d met them before, at school or at the store.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, you know us quite well, but it’s been a long time, and when the curtain–”

He suddenly stopped as the girl gave him a frantic look. “Never mind. We haven’t forgotten you, though.”

“Yes,” said the girl. “We think about you almost every day. But there isn’t much time left. Will you come?”

Somehow Charles knew that this was it — if he said no, he wouldn’t have another chance. He also knew, deep down inside, that if he didn’t go with the children, something terrible would happen.

“Yes, I’ll go. Can I tell my mom?”

“I’m sorry, but there isn’t time,” said the boy. He extended his hand. “Here, hold this, and don’t let go, no matter what.”

Charles grabbed his hand. Suddenly there was blackness. It wasn’t like the lights had been turned off, but rather like all the light that ever existed had been sucked out of the universe. It was more than the absence of light, though — it was a real, almost tangible nothing. Charles felt the ground beneath his feet move like waves of the sea, bubbling and writhing. He had a feeling it wasn’t ground anymore, but something else — the darkness.

Then, slowly, he began to feel very cold. It began in the tips of his toes and crawled up through his feet, climbing up his legs, making the hair stick straight up and the skin tingle with goosebumps. Then he felt it enter his fingertips, his arms. When the cold entered his head through his eyes, he felt it quickly shoot down through his body to his heart. He began to panic. Before the chill could reach it, however, he heard a voice.

“Halt.” It was soft and at the same time very hard and stern. Charles couldn’t tell whom it belonged to or where it came from, for it seemed to come from everywhere. He expected the voice to continue, but it did not. As soon as it had spoken, however, he felt something warm begin glowing in his heart, growing and expanding and dissolving the cold. It filled his chest and his arms and hands and legs and feet. Finally it rose up to his head. He felt strong and clear and wonderful, as if he could conquer the world. As the warmth got to his eyes, the darkness vanished, just as suddenly as it had appeared, and was replaced by a blinding whiteness.

Charles blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. The whiteness was moving, dancing joyfully to a melody which he felt more than heard.

“We’re here.” Charles turned and saw the boy and the girl standing on a hill behind him. He turned back and was puzzled by the whiteness. Then he looked up. Far, far above him, higher than the clouds, he saw the spray of a giant waterfall. The waves cascaded down in front of him, hitting bottom far below at some point he could not see. The water was purer and clearer than any water he had seen before.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” the girl said. She was standing next to him. He turned and saw the boy on his other side.

“Where are we?”

The boy looked up at the waterfall. “The real world.”

Charles frowned. “The real world?”

“You see, Charlie,” said the girl, “your world isn’t the only one there is. It’s just a copy of the real world.”

The boy chimed in. “Your world is a shadow of the real thing. Everything there comes from something here. You’ve heard of the Niagara Falls, right?”

“Of course.”

“This is the real Niagara,” he said. “It’s not in the same place, of course, but do you see the difference? The Niagara in your world is hardly anything compared to this. And it’s the same way with everything.”

Charles thought to himself for a moment. “Does that mean I’m not the real me?”

The girl smiled. “Of course you are. But when you’re in your own world, you become a shadow of the real you. You can’t tell the difference once you’re there, of course. It’s the same way with dreaming — you don’t know you’re dreaming until you wake up. Do you feel any different now than you did before?”

“There isn’t time for this, Alana,” the boy said. “We have to hurry.”

Alana’s lip turned down. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” said Charles. “You still haven’t told me what the big hurry is. What’s going to happen?”

“You’ll find out soon.” The boy turned around and pointed.

Charles turned and looked in the direction of the boy’s finger. Far beyond the hill where they were standing, there stood a mountain, higher than any he had ever seen before, even taller than the waterfall. Between them and the mountain the ground was covered with lush, deep green trees.

Then Charles noticed that there was no sun in the sky. There weren’t any clouds to hide it, either. “Where’s the sun?”

“There’s no need of it,” the boy said. “The light from the King fills the whole world. The whole universe, in fact.”

“What’s the King? Is that the name of a star?”

“No, silly,” said Alana. “He’s a person, like you and me, but much better.”

Charles frowned. “How can a person light up the whole universe?”

“I don’t know, but he does, and that’s all that matters.” She smiled.

“The King is the one who sent us to get you,” said the boy. “He said to take you to the foot of the mountain, but only if you want to go.”

“But I don’t even know what I’m doing here! Why should I do what the King says?” Deep inside, however, Charles knew he had to obey the King. And even deeper, he knew that he wanted to obey him. He didn’t know why; he just did.

Alana looked at the boy with concern. “Saro, say something.”

Saro gulped. “Charlie, can you trust us?”

“I don’t know.” Charles closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head. “This isn’t real. It can’t be.”

“Charlie, look around you,” said Alana. “You know it’s real.”

He couldn’t deny it. The waterfall was far more vivid and alive than anything he’d ever seen back home, even in movies. And the mountain — the mountain made his heart beat faster just to look at it. It was so…deep. Yes, that was the right word for it — everything here was deep, in color and height and life and everything else.

“Okay.” Both Saro and Alana smiled. “But only on one condition.”

Alana quickly said, “What?”

“You tell me what the King’s real name is. He does have a name, right?”

Saro frowned. “We can’t. It’s not something you can tell people. You have to find out for yourself, the way we did.”

“Charlie, he does have another name in your world,” said Alana. “I think you’ll find that out as you get to know him better. But that’s something we can’t do for you.”

“Well, if you won’t tell me his name, can you at least tell me what the cold was?”

Alana shivered. “Please, let’s not talk about that. Not here.”

“But I want to know! I won’t go unless you tell me.” Charles knew he was acting like a baby, but he was suddenly possessed by a drive to know the source of the cold.

“You’ll find out soon,” Saro said again, a sad look coming into his eyes. “All you need to know now is that the light of the King will always overcome the cold. But sometimes it doesn’t come until you’re just about ready to give up.”

A cloud came into the sky from the east. “It’s time,” Alana said. “Will you go?”

Charles sighed. He knew what his choice needed to be. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, but I’ll go.”

“Thank you!” cried Alana. Saro allowed himself a smile.

Chapter Two

The two boys and the girl began walking away from the waterfall toward the mountain. The hill they were on descended steeply until it reached the forest. Before they entered, however, Saro motioned with his hand for them to stop.

“We can get there faster if we run. There’s a clearing in here where no trees grow, and it leads in a path all the way to the foot of the mountain. Follow me.”

He led Charles and Alana into the trees, following a well-worn path edged with stones. The trees were magnificently giant, with thick, sturdy trunks and wide-reaching branches. From underneath, each one looked like it was going to soar into the sky. Birdsongs floated through the air over their heads. Chipmunks — larger than the ones back home, Charles noted — scurried about on the leaves, occasionally darting up and down the tree trunks. The whole forest seemed brimming with life, almost overflowing.

Once, as they were walking over a cobblestone bridge across a river, they saw a white stag in the distance. Saro covered his mouth with his finger, motioning for Charles to be quiet. Before Charles had a chance to say anything, however, the stag disappeared behind some aspens. The children continued on.

Before long they reached another river and began to follow it. The water in it was as clear and as pure as the waterfall; Charles assumed it in fact came from the waterfall. He could see fish swimming underneath the surface — fish with shiny, richly colored scales, so vivid that they almost looked too real to be real. He knelt down to reach into the water, but before his hand got wet, Saro turned, saw what he was doing, leapt to his side, and firmly but gently placed his arm in the way.

“Don’t touch the water.”

Charles frowned. “Why not?”

“You’re not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“I’ll explain later.”

After this mysterious exchange, Charles began paying closer attention to his two escorts. They looked like brother and sister, each with the blonde curly hair, round blue eyes, and a straight, pointy nose. Saro had a graver countenance, however, as if an invisible burden were weighing him down. Charles realized with a start that both wore loose-fitting tunics. He hadn’t noticed that at all — they had looked like ordinary suburban kids back at the lemonade stand. Now, however, they looked almost like a Greek god and goddess in miniature, although they seemed to be richer and deeper than the Athena’s and Zeus’s of the storybooks. Both were barefoot. Suddenly it dawned on Charles that the two were glowing, quite visibly too. He instinctively looked at himself. No, he wasn’t glowing. Or was he? Even as he watched, his arm began taking on a faint, golden aura, fading into nothingness a few millimeters away from his skin. His glow wasn’t as strong as that of Saro or Alana, but it was certainly there.

At a murmur from Saro, Charles looked up and saw that they had reached the clearing. It was a gap in the forest, perhaps twenty feet wide, stretching straight ahead, all the way to the foot of the mountain. The mountain was five or six miles away, at least as far as Charles could tell.

“Follow me,” said Saro. “All you have to do is run.”

And he took off, sprinting toward the mountain. Suddenly he seemed to speed up and then he disappeared in a blur. Alana followed suit. Charles frowned. Did they mean to leave him there? He didn’t particularly care to stay in the forest, so he began running toward the mountain. A second or two after he started, he felt the grass beneath him start moving faster, and the trees on both sides of him began whistling by at a quickly-accelerating speed. A few moments later, he found himself at the foot of the mountain next to Saro and Alana.

“What happened? How did–”

“It’s part of being in the real world, Charlie. While you’re here, you aren’t bound by the laws that slow you down on your world.” Saro pointed at the ground in front of them. “See that path?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Follow it. After a while you’ll come to the silver tree. Wait underneath it — someone will come to meet you. Alana and I can’t go with you any farther, but you won’t need us anyway. Don’t leave the path. And don’t waste any time.”

Alana pressed something into Charles’s hand. “Keep this with you always. If you need help, use it.” She and Saro began fading away into a bright, sparkling sphere of light. When he could see them no longer, the light suddenly disappeared.

Charles opened his hand to see what Alana had given him. It was a stick, smooth to the touch. The stick was an inch or two longer than his hand and about as thick as his thumb. Letters were carved around the top and the bottom, but he couldn’t read them. They reminded him of some runes he had seen in a history book long ago. He noticed the stick was glowing, not golden like the three children but rather a whitish glow. He then remembered Saro’s admonition not to waste time and began walking along the path.

The climb wasn’t too steep at first, even hardly noticeable. This path didn’t have any stones to mark it, but it was easy enough to see without them. Charles looked up to see if he could see the top of the mountain. He couldn’t, for a group of enormous clouds had settled in just above him. The path began turning to the right. It looked like it went all the way around the mountain, ascending like a spiral staircase.

As he walked, Charles fingered the stick, running his thumb over the letters on the top, feeling the shapes. The stick began to grow hot. He took it out of his pocket and tried to blow on it. It grew hotter. Within a few seconds it was so hot that he dropped it to the ground, more from reflex than from pain, for he noticed that there hadn’t been any pain. It was glowing even more than before.

The stick began moving, tracing a path in the dirt. It moved along in a rectangle, then began drawing some lines and other shapes within the box. Charles realized it was a map. The stick soon finished its work and moved to a spot just outside the rectangle. The glow almost disappeared.

Charles picked up the stick and put it in his pocket. Then he looked at the map. There was a thick winding line that went in zigzag fashion from the lower-left of the map to the upper-right. To one side of it, at about the middle of the rectangle, was a group of circles with lines underneath them. On the other side was a thin line that crossed the thick line and passed into the midst of the circles. An ‘X’ was drawn in the middle of one of the circles. Charles looked at the map very hard, long enough to imprint it on his mind, and then began walking again.

Before five minutes had passed, he came to a grove of trees on his left. Every single one was silver. Drawing nearer, Charles realized that not all of each tree was silver — just the leaves. The wood was a normal brown, although some of the trees seemed more shiny than others. Charles thought back to Saro’s counsel. Which tree was the silver tree if they were all silver trees? He walked into the grove, looking at each tree as if it would tell him that it was the one he was looking for.

As he came near the center of the grove, he stepped over a little stream, not more than a foot wide. Something seemed familiar about it. Then the map flashed into his mind and Charles knew exactly where he had to go. Or did he? Which tree had the ‘X’ drawn in it? He wasn’t quite sure anymore. But he knew the general area, and so he walked to the edge of the grove. One of the trees was larger than the others, with four thick branches sprouting out of its trunk and forming a massive umbrella of wood and leaves. Yes, that was the one, Charles thought. He walked up to it and sat down, leaning against the trunk. It seemed softer than he thought it would be, almost like a pillow. It was very soft. Very comfortable. It wouldn’t hurt if he took a little nap. Surely the person he was waiting for would wake him up. His eyelids began to droop and before he knew it he was fast asleep.

---

Charles dreamt that he was swimming in a lake in the middle of a dark forest. As he swam along the edge, he stopped, for to his right, standing on the bank in majestic grandeur, was the white stag. The dream felt very real, not like a dream at all. Charles and the stag looked at each other for a long moment. It seemed to be sad. Charles knew it was disappointed in him, and that feeling wrenched his heart. What had he done? Then, almost before he had asked the question, he knew that the question needed to be changed: what had he not done? A horrible sense of emptiness, of something missing, drenched his spirit.

---

He awoke to a clap of thunder. Raindrops plummeted down en masse from the heavens above, soaking the ground — and Charles — with each eruptive splash. The tree didn’t give much shelter from the rain, Charles found out, as he realized he was thoroughly wet. Dark, inky clouds above had painted the entire scene with drab grey strokes, a bleak picture of a dying world. A flash of lightning illuminated the outlines of the leaves above Charles’ head, silhouetting the forest and — and a building just in front of him. Charles frowned. It hadn’t been there when he fell asleep. The sky was too dark for him to see it clearly, but he could make out the vague shape. It looked like a storybook cottage, the kind with thatched roofs that he had read about in fairy tales.

“What are you doing on my land?” A gruff voice came out of nowhere. Charles looked around to see if he could find its owner, but the source remained invisible.

“I — are you the person I’m supposed to meet?”

The voice was silent for a moment. “Hmm? What’s the word?”

“The word?”

“The sign, the passphrase.”

Charles groaned silently. Had Saro forgotten to give him the passphrase? “I’m not sure,” he said. “But there were two — wait!” Suddenly the scene from his dream, where the white stag stood on the bank of the river, sprang into his mind. Not quite knowing what he was saying, Charles stood and said, “I come in the name of the King.”

A man stepped out of the shadows next to the cottage. “Well done.” Charles still couldn’t see him very well, but at least he could tell that the man was tall, stood straight, and looked bald.

“Who — who are you?”

The man took a step closer. “My name here is Shadow, and that is what you will call me. While you are here, your name will be White Horse.”

“White Horse?”

“I’ll explain why later.” He motioned towards the cottage. “Come inside and we’ll get you ready to go.”

“Ready to go? Go where?”

The man said nothing but just walked into the cottage. Charles followed, not only because of the man’s command but also to get out of the drenching rain. The room inside was small but warm. Two candles on a table flickered, their soft, yellow light casting dancing shadows on the walls. Shadow walked to the round window opposite the door and opened it. In flew two white doves, landing on the table next to the candles.

Shadow closed the window and turned to Charles. “Aren’t you going to greet your friends?”

Charles looked at him in amazement. “My friends?”

“Don’t you remember us?” asked one of the doves, much to Charles’ surprise. “I’m Alana.”

“You are? But…but –”

The other dove, which Charles assumed was Saro, said, “This is the form we take on this world.”

Suddenly a crash splintered the window as a rock shot through and hit the opposite wall.

“Drop!” shouted Shadow.

Charles obeyed. Shadow motioned for him to crawl over next to the wall, which he did. Saro and Alana flew up to the ceiling and perched on a protruding rod which Charles hadn’t noticed before.

There was silence for a few eternally long moments. The rain had stopped. Then the sound of hooves circling around the cottage arose, and with a flash of lightning the rain began again, pummeling the cottage even harder than before. The noise of the horses — if that’s what they were — was accompanied by hideous groaning and shrieking sounds, moans and wails that sent chills down Charles’ spine.

But the effect of the wails and shrieks was nothing compared to the paralyzing force which gripped Charles when he heard, in the most awful tone yet, his name called from outside. “Chaaaaaarrrrrles.” The voice seemed like a woman’s voice, beautiful and in pain. But he knew it was really a man’s voice. There was something sinister behind it, something that left Charles feeling hollow and empty inside. The voice itself sounded empty.

Charles whispered to Shadow, “How does he know my name?”

“Graagor knows the name of every creature on this world — he’s the ruler here. Don’t listen to him.”

Another stone crashed through the window and bounced off the wall, landing perilously close to Charles’ head. He wriggled closer to the wall.

“The ruler? I thought the King was the ruler.”

“Look,” said Shadow, “I’ll explain it later. Right now is not the time.”

Charles didn’t have a chance to answer. The wall which the rock had hit suddenly collapsed. Before Charles could even open his mouth to gape, he felt Shadow grab his hand and pull him out into the rain.

“Run like mad!” Shadow cried. “And don’t run off the path, no matter what!”

They ran through the trees and out onto the trail. Charles could hear the sound of horses neighing behind him. They ran up the path, trying not to slip on the slick wet mud. The horses sounded like they were getting nearer. For one horrible moment Charles thought he felt one of the horses breathing hot on his neck. His legs began to feel like blobs of concrete. His lungs felt like they were going to explode. Odd things started happening in his head — a woozy feeling came over him, then disappeared, then came back even stronger, then disappeared for good, only to be replaced by a dry, grating feeling, as if there was gravel in his throat.

Suddenly Charles noticed that the noise of the horses was gone. “Wait!” He stopped.

Shadow pulled on his arm and said, “What are you doing? Come on!”

“No!” Charles could only talk in gasps, in between the wheezing gulps of air. “They’re — the horses — I can’t hear — them — anymore.”

Shadow cocked an ear to the side. “You’re right. But it’s still too dangerous to stop. We must move on.”

“I need — to take a break. I can’t go any farther.”

“We mustn’t stop.”

“I’m not going.”

Shadow bowed his head. “I’m going to regret this.”

No sooner had he spoken than Charles looked ahead on the path and saw, towering in front of them, three midnight-black horses. “Shadow!”

Shadow turned and froze. The horse in the middle took a step forward. Its rider, a tall man wrapped in a grey cloak, stepped off.

“We meet again.” The voice was dark and icy cold. The face belonging to the voice was not a bit warmer — it was chalky white, with two sunken eyeballs surrounded by massive wrinkles. The mouth was a mere red slit that barely moved as the man talked. His hair was pitch black and close-shaven.

Shadow said nothing. Charles felt like hordes of insects were pricking his skin in millions of different places.

“You refuse to address me?” The grey man smiled. “That isn’t wise, Trinn.” He made special emphasis on the last word. Then he turned to Charles. “Yes, Charles, his name is Trinn. Why do you tell the boy lies, ‘Shadow’?”

Shadow remained silent.

“Perhaps Trinn never told you who he really is. Did he?”

Charles looked with alarm at Shadow.

“And perhaps,” Graagor said with his eyes narrowing to slits, “perhaps Trinn neglected to tell you whose side he was on. Yes, Trinn, I suppose you forgot to tell him in the rush of things, didn’t you. Not very wise of you. Nor honest, wouldn’t you think? Come now, Trinn, tell the boy everything. Tell him how you were my right-hand man.”

Charles gasped. Shadow seemed to be in pain, staring hard at the ground.

“Yes, Charles,” continued the grey man, “he was indeed my disciple. The most promising of the lot. But he betrayed me. Can you trust a dishonest man? How can you believe a wretch like this who turned against his master? After all that I did for him, yet he was ungrateful, spitting in my face. But I do believe he still continues in the dark arts, don’t you, Trinn?”

Shadow finally spoke, quietly but firmly. “That is a lie. You know it as well as I do, Graagor. Don’t believe him, Charles — he is a liar and has been from the beginning. Yes, I was his disciple. Yes, I learned the dark arts and the hidden secrets — I have the scars and cannot hide them no matter how often I wish to do so. And yes, I did indeed betray him. Betrayed his dark and evil ways to turn to the light, to the side of good.”

“Good?” Graagor spit on the ground. “You dare to tell me what good is?”

“Let me finish. Look at yourself. You’re at death’s door, if not already leaping across the threshold. Your ‘dark arts’ have drained any remnant of humanity from you, leaving nothing but a shell.”

Graagor laughed. “Are you trying to evade the issue? Charles, listen to him change the point so deftly. Apparently Trinn thinks that he is such a master of the dark arts that he can practice them without becoming a ’shell.’”

“Charles, he is lying.”

“Oh, am I? Tell him the truth, then.”

Shadow was silent for a moment. His eyes flashed, as if he were struggling inside, trying to lift a heavy burden. Then he stood up straight and said with a strong, clear voice, “I will. I will indeed. Charles, I have done a great wrong. The old ways of evil are still within me. Graagor would have you believe I am naught but a pawn of his who pretended to leave the dark in order to sway innocents away from the light. Perhaps he even believes it himself. I will not try to hide my past from you — I am a man, and not a very good one. But I am on the road that leads to the light, and that is what Graagor would hide from you. Before he twists and perverts my story, let me tell you what I have done.”

Before he could speak another word, Graagor waved his hand in the air. Shadow’s lips froze. His eyes darted about madly, but his mouth and the rest of his body remained still as if they were part of a wax statue.

“So I’m to twist and pervert your story, am I?” The slitted eyes took on an even colder glare. “Perhaps you have forgotten your manners, Trinn. I am your master. Do not forget it. Now, Charles, for the real story. Trinn was, as I mentioned, my disciple. I taught him everything I knew of the dark arts. On the eve before he was to make the final seal on his mastery of the hidden secrets, however, he disappeared. I found him several months later. One of my ravens was flying past Avathain Castle en route to the caves when he spotted Trinn looking out a window in one of the castle’s towers. Of course I desired to seek after the well-being of my disciple — he had become like a son to me — and so I sent a messenger to Avathain and entreated him to return. He refused, saying he was no longer of the dark, that he had left the ‘evil’ ways behind. Yet I could see in his eyes that he was lying.”

Shadow’s eyes flashed even fiercer than before.

“Yes,” Graagor said, looking at Shadow with a cruel smile, “he was lying. I realized that he was claiming to be of the light so that he might quietly invade Avathain, sowing the seeds of destruction among our enemies. It was a brilliant scheme. Worthy of a student of mine, indeed. For the next six months, I sent messengers to Trinn, lending him hope and encouragement that he might not be persuaded over by Lanstad and the Welian boy. Then, one fine winter day, he left Avathain. And left behind him an enchantment which to this day holds Lanstad and the Stonecutter and even old Welian himself in a sleep which no one but Trinn himself can break. But the best part of the story is yet to come. Trinn wasn’t satisfied with merely drugging the lord of the castle and his best knight and son; no, he had higher sights.”

Shadow looked like he was about to explode within.

“You see, Charles, over the course of his six months at Avathain, Trinn had fallen in love with Welian’s daughter, the fair and exceedingly beautiful Lianthia. Lia didn’t care much for Trinn, however. She was always rather a perceptive one, don’t you think, Trinn? No doubt she saw through your disguise and wasn’t taken in for a moment.”

His words seemed to cause Shadow more pain. The grey man smiled and continued.

“Trinn couldn’t bear to leave her behind, so he cast a shadow of paralysis upon Lianthia and carried her away, tied to the back of his horse. When he returned to Castle Graagathain, he stashed Lia in one of the towers just before the armies of Avendun arrived. And forgot about her. Can you imagine that? Really, Trinn, I thought you had more depth than that. Love is pure folly, of course, but even the most insane lover would never forget his beloved. But Trinn did just that, and as Avendun attacked, the little weasel ran away in cowardice. When the attack was over, he returned, but he had forgotten how to remove the shadow from Lianthia. One would think that one time would be enough, but our Trinn decided to betray his master a second time. He left — with Lianthia still tucked safely away in my tower — and hasn’t returned since. Isn’t that right, Trinn?” He laughed a deep, guttural, gritty laugh.

“But I must be off. Goodbye, Charles. You can’t be too careful around this man — be wary and don’t trust him out of your sight.” Graagor mounted his horse and galloped away with the other two riders.

Charles stood a moment in shock, not knowing what to think. He looked at Shadow. “Are you okay?”

Shadow’s eyes darted back and forth from side to side.

“No? What am I supposed to do? I don’t know any magic.”

He noticed that Shadow was looking hard at his pocket. Pulling out the stick, he said, “This?”

Shadow’s eyes nodded up and down.

Charles waved it in the air. Nothing happened. He fingered the letters around the top of the stick. He blinked in surprise — he could read them now. The words still didn’t make sense, but at least he could say them.

“Myntha ragamon Avathain, ti lammad i sytha ir unden.”

Suddenly Shadow stepped forward. “Thank you. The only power on this world that can fight against Graagor’s magic is the stick of Jisfal. I hoped you would have enough sense to read the inscription, and luckily for me I was right.”

Charles stood gaping. “I did that? That was magic?”

“No. Magic is a dark art. The power of the light is far stronger than magic and is an entirely different thing. But those of the dark will have you believe it is nothing but a white magic. We need to be off.”

“Can I trust you? Were all those things he said about you true?”

A sad look came into Shadow’s eyes. “As I was saying, Graagor is a liar. Much of the story was true, but all of the critical points were false. We haven’t enough time for me to tell you everything, however — you’ll have to trust me for now. I promise that I won’t betray you.”

Charles sensed that he was telling the truth. “Okay, I’ll believe you.”

“Good. Follow me.”

As they began walking up the path in the direction Graagor had gone, Charles realized that the rain had stopped. He looked up and saw dark clouds everywhere except for a circle right above them where blue sky shone through.

“Shadow, look at that,” he said, pointing up.

Shadow looked and smiled. “It’s a sign. The King is pleased.”

Chapter Three

“So, where are we going?” Charles was trudging along in Shadow’s wake, clumsily slushing through the mud. The rain had faded away shortly after the circle appeared.

Shadow looked back and said, “The gate.”

“The gate? To what?”

“You’ll see.”

The path swept back and forth in a sinuous trail up the mountain. Several times it seemed to be heading downward instead of upward, but each time it eventually began moving back in the right direction. Very little vegetation decorated the land surrounding the path.

“Shadow?”

“Yes?”

“Why is the land so dead?”

“Graagor,” said Shadow, stopping. “This world used to be a paradise, filled with the most beautiful forests, waterfalls, crystal lakes. But Graagor began meddling with the dark arts. His magic seeped out, so to speak, and poisoned the whole land. Or perhaps he cast a spell on it; I don’t know. What I do know is that it is now a rotting, festering, dying land that is hardly worth saving.”

A question came into Charles’ mind. “Were you here when it was a paradise?”

Shadow smiled and said, “No, no, that was long before my time. I’ve just read about it in books. But I can imagine it.” He looked out over the desolate landscape and sighed. “Perhaps someday…”

“Can’t the King do anything?”

“Yes, of course. The King can do anything he wants to. But he chooses not to.”

“Why?”

Shadow looked at him sharply. “Charles, it is not for us to question the King’s decisions. He is the authority here, not you, not I. I know his ways may seem strange or even stupid at times, but I also know — from long and hard experience — that he is always right. If the King is letting Graagor do as he will, then that must be right. The shadows always clear up in the end.”

As they came round a bend, the trail led up to a pool and disappeared in the water. In the middle of the pool there was a small wooden door rising out of the water. On the other side Charles could see the trail continue on up the mountain. A door standing there in the middle of nowhere on a mountain. On water, no less. Charles wondered to himself if he had made a mistake in getting involved in all of this.

Shadow motioned for him to take off his clothes and get in the water.

“Take off my clothes? Are you kidding?”

Shadow smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t look. I promise.”

“But why do I need to take them off? Can’t I keep them on?”

“No, you won’t be able to enter the water if you do. Try it.”

Charles walked up to the end of the trail and stuck his foot out. The water was as hard as stone. “Shadow, I can’t go in there. It’s solid! Can’t we just walk around it?”

“You can, but you won’t be able to go any farther.”

“We’ll see about that.” Charles walked around the side of the pool — it was only twenty feet wide — and tried to walk past the arch. And couldn’t. Some invisible force wouldn’t let him go even an inch past the doorway.

“See?” Shadow was still standing back on the other side of the lake.

Charles grumbled and came back. “Well, you’d better turn around. And put your hands over your eyes.”

Shadow did so.

“Do I have to take off everything?”

“You’ll see for yourself.”

Charles quickly removed his shirt and tried to step into the water. It was still rock hard. He looked to make sure Shadow wasn’t looking, then removed the rest of his clothing and stepped into the water. It gave him no resistance this time and was even warmer than he thought it would be. When he was safely covered, he said, “Now what?”

“Swim through the door,” said Shadow.

Charles said, “Can’t I just walk through it?”

“No, you have to go under the water. All the way.”

Charles shrugged and ducked under the water. He could see the door clearly. It was only five or six feet away.

Suddenly a clap of thunder shook the ground. Charles shot up out of the water.

“What was that?”

Shadow said, “Ignore it. Swim through the door.”

“Is it safe?”

“Yes.”

Charles dipped under the water again and began swimming toward the door. As he got nearer, he felt it drawing him towards it, like a magnet. When he passed through the door, a warm feeling burned inside his chest and he felt like he had been washed clean. He popped up out of the water and looked back at Shadow. Shadow wasn’t there.

“I’m over here.” Shadow stood on the trail ahead, smiling broadly. “Good job. You can come out now.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“You’re wearing them.”

Charles looked down at himself and found that he indeed was wearing clothes. But they weren’t his old t-shirt and jeans; instead, he was clothed in a brown tunic with sandals.

“Shadow, these aren’t my clothes.”

“I know. You can’t wear your old clothes past the door.”

“But I like them. Can’t I go back and get them?”

“No, it’s impossible. You’ll get used to the new ones. Follow me.”

“But they’re wet!”

“No, they’re not. Come on.”

Charles pushed his way through the water and stepped out onto the trail. As soon as he was all the way out of the water, the tunic dried itself. Shadow was already walking ahead, so Charles ran to catch up.

“Shadow?”

“Yes?” Shadow looked back at Charles.

“Why did I need to do that?”

“It’s the only way to move on. You saw that.”

“But why the pool? Why the door?”

Shadow smiled. “Charles, your questions are too deep for me. I really don’t know. But the King set it up that way, so that’s enough for me.”

“Oh.”

Before they had walked much farther, Charles asked, “Will you tell me the real story? About you and Graagor?”

Shadow swallowed. “Must I?”

“Please? I need to know.”

“As you wish. But we must keep a brisk pace if we’re to meet Skyrider by dusk.” He heaved a deep breath and began.

---

The first point you must remember is that Graagor is a liar. He makes his lies more potent by stirring in a few truths. Beware him always. Now, I was indeed a minion of his, back when I was young. He enticed me with his promises of power and his mysterious ways. I succumbed and became his disciple.

After several months of learning the horrible dark arts and being wrapped in darkness day and night, I saw what I was turning into — a monster like Graagor — and made a decision to change. But it didn’t happen immediately. I forgot about my resolution and went back to meddling in potions and spells and necromancy. Then one day as I was looking out my window, thinking about a spell that had gone awry, a white dove flew down from the sky and perched on the turret outside my window. At first a terrible hate filled me and I tried to cast a spell that would destroy the creature. It didn’t work. No, I must correct myself — it did indeed work, for the fireball shot out from my hands, but the bird was unharmed. Something was protecting it. I tried again; the same thing happened. The bird then spoke to me. I was quite surprised, for never had a creature spoken to me except when under my spells.

It called me by name and told me I was destroying myself by staying on the side of the dark. I asked what I had to do to change. It didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but then it said, “Leave Graagor immediately.” Part of me recoiled, but the rest of me saw it for the truth it was. I packed up my few belongings and set out. I didn’t know where I was going; all I knew was that I needed to get away from Graagor. The instant I stepped outside the castle, I knew inside my heart that I was doing the right thing. After a few days’ journey, haunted at every step by the thought of Graagor finding me, and starving because I hadn’t packed any food with me, I reached a caravan of traders. They took me in and fed me.

One of them, a man named Lanstad, pulled me into a tent off to the side and asked if I knew Graagor. At first I wanted to tell him I didn’t, but honesty prevailed. He asked how I knew the dark one. I told him I had been a disciple, but I had forsaken the dark arts and left to find something better.

He looked at me hard and said, “How do I know you’re not a spy?”

I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I weakly mumbled, “I’m not, I promise.”

Just then a page tapped the man on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He frowned. “Graagor has sent a small army out of Graagathain. They’re heading in our direction. It looks like Graagor wants you back.”

Chills coursed through my body. “Please don’t let him get me — I just escaped and you don’t know what he’ll do to me if he gets me.” Before long I was blubbering like a baby.

Lanstad turned to his page. “Fetch Timman, will you?” The boy left for a moment and returned with a short, fat man, heavily bearded and clad in chain mail.

“Timman,” Lanstad said, “this man says he’s not a spy. Graagor’s on his way to take him back. What do you think — shall we let him go or shall we trust him?”

Timman stared at me for a solid minute. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes,” I said, quivering. The four torches on the sides of the tent flickered.

Timman turned to Lanstad and said, “Trust him. But be careful, for he’s newly freed of the dark and it may yet have a hold on him.” He gave me a stern eye. “If you betray us, man, you will rue the day you were born.”

“I won’t betray you. I promise.”

Lanstad ordered the caravan to set off toward the south. He put me on a horse with Timman and sent us eastward with a small party of men. Before long we reached a forested hill and hid among the trees. From where we were, we could easily see the caravan, slowly moving toward the mountains as Graagor’s army — perhaps 50 in number — galloped in from the north. The caravan stopped as the army reached it. After an hour, to our horror, the army began moving in our direction, slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed. We leapt onto our horses and began racing away up the hill as fast as we could go.

“Someone must have betrayed us,” Timman said as we hurtled through the leaves and branches.

We swerved to the south as a river suddenly appeared in our view. One of the men called out that there was a bridge not too far ahead. Within five minutes we came to it. And gasped — Graagor and five other men were on horseback on the other side of the bridge. I thought he might not recognize me since I was wearing a hood, but as we raced past the bridge, he called out my name. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. Part of me wanted to answer his call, to go to him and plead for forgiveness. But Timman whispered, “Don’t listen to him,” and the other part of me obeyed. As we passed the bridge, I looked back. Graagor watched as we moved away, but neither he nor the other horsemen moved.

“Why aren’t they following us?” I asked.

“Don’t know.” said Timman. “Hold on tight — this next part will get a little rough.”

The river turned to the east and disappeared in a gully. We kept moving south. The hill became steeper and rockier. One man’s horse stumbled and fell to the ground. Timman jumped off his horse and helped the fallen man get back up. After several miles of the rocky terrain, we were high above the valley and could see Castle Graagathain off in the distance.

Graagor’s army had disappeared, but the caravan was still there, moving south far below us. I turned to Timman. “What now?”

“Now,” he said, “we wait. Lanstad will come for us.” He ordered the men to get off their horses and tie them under a nearby tree.

“Can’t they see us?” I asked.

“They? Probably.” He stroked his beard. “But I don’t think Graagor would send his troops up here. Too risky.”

I paled. “Too risky? You don’t know Graagor very well. He wants me back. We need to find some kind of shelter.”

To be continued…