Boom! Flashes of immense bright light broke through gaps between thick, velvet curtains of a wide canopy bed. Most of the light was blocked, making long, wide shadows across equally thick bed sheets. The regally sized bed had a soft cushioned mattress snugly fitting to the body on top of it. The body lifted from their rest to the resounding boom of thunder and the spine-tingling crack of lightning that went off outside their room. They look over to their nightstand and reach out. Through the quick flashes of light from the storm outside, the hands of the body come into view. The hands of an aristocrat and on the backs were patches of brown hair. A male aristocrat. What am I seeing?
The man pushed aside a section of curtain and poked his head out – probably to make sure that his room wasn’t destroyed. Lined along the stone walls were colorful tapestries of scenes that were too hard to make out in the dark. He shifted his legs over to sit at the edge of his large bed and rubbed his irritated eyes. Even in the chaotic sounds of the storm it was still hard to wake up especially if your bed was made for ten and comfortable as a cloud.
He stood up and unfurled his crumpled nightgown, feeling the relieving stretch of his legs. He grunted and reached for a candlestick and two white stones on his nightstand. He struck them together, creating a brilliant rainbow of sparks, and lit the wick. The entire room was encased in warm candlelight, making the storm seem like a minor drizzle until the thunder and lighting returned to his ears.
His senses were still getting adjusted to the chaotic storm outside, but there was something inside his room that disturbed his eyes. Glittering by his hand was a golden crown. What the hell? Where am I? It was well adorned with rubies and emeralds and had eight sharp points shaped like sword hilts along its edge. It was clear that this man was a king or was rich enough to collect some impressive head gear. He looked up at a large tapestry that was hanging above the headboard to his bed, displaying an archer dressed in green. It wasn’t incredibly detailed like everything else in the bedroom and looked like a simple logo for an archery business. He sighed and admired it for a moment.
Everything about the king’s room was a mystery with the dark as if he was inside a shadowbox. It all had a medieval castle feel and furnished with antique furniture. It was oddly shaped like a trapezoid. The far-left corner had a large, wooden door with a square shaped peep hole like the old doors to exclusive clubs in the cities. To the right of the door, within the wider angled corner, rested a brown leather reading chair with a golden fringe along the armrests and a pile of books that rested on a small wooden table with a polished finish that shimmered brightly as if it was made of glass.
Tizk! Lightning crackled outside and entered the room through four golden window shutters lined above a cluttered, wooden desk with many loose-leaf papers resting on top. He walked toward it while he shielded his candle from the stormwinds. His eyes continued to adjust to the contrast of brilliant flashes to a suffocating darkness.
One of the gilded shutters broke open with a howling, hurricane wind, tossing the loose papers through the air like pigeons fluttering off a park bench. He turned with his back to the window and pulled his candle uncomfortably close to his body. The flame was hot around his chest, but well protected. The bed sheets ruffled, and the curtains of his canopy bed billowed like sails in a squall. He paced with his back to the breeze until his heel touched the cold stone wall. Now all he needed to do was close the window. With a certain acrobatic grace, he was able to close and latch the shutters without losing the light of the candle. He smiled and sighed with his grandiose performance and looked over at the reading chair.
“Another great display of ski – “
The hot wax of the candle dripped down, burning his petrified fingers. He strained to breathe through his mouth as the deafening sounds of the storm were masked by a ringing in his ears.
Sitting in the leather reading chair was a hooded figure cloaked in shadow. The king reached out his shaking hand, hoping the light of the candle would display the face of his uninvited guest. The candle exposed four wiry fingers, flipping through a few pages of a book. The title etched in a fancy golden lettering as the History of Cretoria. A low, resonating voice like a distant rumbling of thunder read a few passages to itself. As the king reached out his hand, the strength of the candlelight weakened until it was barely a flame as the entire room became encased in shadow. There was no nose, mouth, ears, or even a head visible, except for two brilliant red eyes the size of gems under the curved shape of the hood, staring across the room.
“You know … history wasn’t always my favorite subject, but as most people realize once they get older is that …” Plop! The book in his hand suddenly closed. “It has a lot of lessons to share.”
The king twitched. The candle jiggled a little in his burning hand.
The hooded man didn’t seem to notice as he continued to speak. His sharp, red eyes disappeared and reappeared as he blinked. “Like to not always trust people.” He sighed and even in the darkness one can imagine he furrowed his brow. He spoke intelligently like a seasoned college professor, but at parts he sounded awkward and nervous. “You see I have had issues in the past with trusting people … they let you down the moment they see a way out.”
The king snapped his focus between the hooded man and the square shaped peephole – possibly trying to figure out how the hooded man got into his room or why he hadn’t heard anything from his guards. Who the hell is this guy?, came a voice within his head. The window shutter rapping against the wall was surely loud enough for someone to hear through a wooden door and a rumbling monsoon. He hissed as the searing pain of the hot wax returned to his fingers.
The two eyes rose slightly as the figure must have sat up in their chair, meticulously placed the book back on top of the pile and then looked away from the king. He shook his head as if he was consulting in someone to his right.
The king did a double take of the empty reading chair opposite the hooded man. Maybe he didn’t see someone else that was there. The burning sensation lingered on his fingers as the wax began to cool and harden. Where the hell am I? How do I get out of this?, the voice in his head continued to question.
The king took a step back and held out his chest. He cleared his throat and extended his arm to his door. It seemed like the king didn’t want the hooded man to see that he was afraid. Okay, now you want to stand up to this guy?, the voice exclaimed. “I think it’s time for you to go or I will have my men escort you from the castle.”
The hooded man ended his imaginary ‘conversation’ and snapped his head toward the king. “Coddleswap!” he exclaimed. His voice trembled with irritation. “Your men … will not be joining us.”
The king shook his head and took a deep breath. His eyes quivered. The candle rattled nervously in his hand. “What do you mean? … Who are you?” Finally some answers!, the voice rejoiced.
The man took a few deep breaths, possibly contemplating on what to tell the king. The winds howled from outside and the shutters rattled. It was impossible to know what he was thinking behind those scary, red eyes. “Look, I know this may not make sense to you, but I want …” A wave of lightning and thunder interrupted him. He paused and shook his head with a child-like frustration. He rose to his feet, standing about a few inches taller than the king and nearly twice as wide. A hood was now visible in the surrounding light. The storm didn’t seem to be so threatening compared to being within the hooded man’s looming shadow. His heavy feet struck the ground like rolling boulders as they plodded forward. “I want you to listen to what I have to say.”
The king flinched and stepped backwards. “Guards!” He knocked into the wooden desk and fell to the floor. The candle left his hand and rolled beside him. The tiny flame still intact within a pool of wet wax. His room now looked like a cavern illuminated by a campfire – leaving large twitching shadows on the stone ceiling.
The hooded man growled and waved his arms up and down. Consuming the ceiling with his grotesque shadow. “If you could just listen, I want to tell …”
“Guards!”
“Ach! Why don’t you royals ever want to … LISTEN!” Two of the golden shutters burst open with the trembling force of his powerful voice.
By the desk, the king scrambled and returned to his feet. He ducked down as an array of pens and papers cascaded from his desk within the powerful stormwinds and landed on the floor. Crack! Crick! Billowing like laundry on the line, the curtains to his canopy bed whipped around knocking over loose items on his nightstand. Within the chaos, he ran over toward his nightstand and reached for the golden crown – possibly to frighten the hooded man off with a look at the rubies and emeralds or just the fact that he was a king. Either option didn’t seem to bode well for him.
The hooded man sighed and looked away. His frustration apparently clear. It came back and went like waves on a stormy shore. “Why? … Why? …. Why?” he sighed. “It doesn’t make any sense. Your guards aren’t coming. They can barely hear anything over this storm.” A few more shutters opened until they all were rattling and swaying in the storm’s powerful breath. “My idea is incredibly simple. I just need your help.” He continued to walk toward the king with his large mitts for hands stretched out to grab him.
The king pulled on each of the miniature sword hilts on his crown with all his might and his arm flung back when he pulled on the right one. He looked down with delight as within his hand was a small, golden-handled, dagger. There you go! Now kill him with that!, the voice came back to his head. The only big question is, Did he know how to use it? He steadily pointed the sharp point at the hooded man with the discipline of a well-trained warrior. He was confident with the small blade in his hand. A bit better than a candle at defending oneself. “Stay back!”
The hooded man took a deep breath and shook his head. His face was still masked from the candlelight by his feet. His voice sounded vexed and his body movements were as awkward and unpredictable as his emotions. “I just wanted you to see why I am going to do this.”
The king was breathing heavily, steadily holding onto the tiny golden hilt. “To do what?”
The hooded man quickly regained his composure. “To see a new world rise from the remains of the old. Sometimes it demands sacrifice.”
The candlelight was extinguished. Lightning flooded the bedroom with brilliant light. Encased in front of the open windows, a menacing silhouette.
Tock! Tock! A knocking came to the door.
“My lord! Are you okay?”
The king smiled, flipping the dagger in his hand, without a single flinch. Backup had finally arrived. “I’m in here. I’m in danger!”
The hooded man lumbered toward the king. His heavy footsteps shaking the floor. A slight innocence in his voice, surprised the king. “I promise you. You are the key to all of this … just let me show you.”
He was now within a few feet of the king. His mammoth arms and neck visible under his cloak. It was easy to spot that his head was not that of a human, but of something completely different.
Pop! The door shuttered – possibly with the force of a few guard’s shoulders. Pop! Pop! The door didn’t break, truly doing its job, but in this case the king hoped it wouldn’t.
The king, by instinct, lunged his blade forward and met his mark somewhere near the hooded man’s chest. He pulled back on it and, with a bit of resistance, returned it back to his hand. Thick, red blood dripped onto the floor by his feet.
The hooded man growled and grasped his left hand tightly on the wound. “Ahh! Coddleswap!”
The king took advantage of the distraction, ran to the door and unlatched the lock. The stained dagger still clenched tightly in his hand.
The door swung open and revealed a torch lit hallway. He heard three guards shouting his name, asking if he was alright, or if the storm frightened him.
“I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way,” came a voice from behind him.
Pfud! A solid hit came to the back of the king’s head.
The room went dark. Thunder shook the walls, lightning brilliantly lit them, and the king and hooded man disappeared.
Daniel Longreed quickly sat up in his comfortable, queen-sized bed. He was not one to remember dreams or even to discuss them, but this was something else. It was so real and vivid, Dan flinched a few more times from the resonating sounds of the storm. Soon they disappeared, and Dan’s eyes were blinded by powerful sunlight, reflecting off his light blue walls. He shifted in his bed, sat at its edge, and rubbed his aching temples. What the hell was that? I think that king guy even heard me. He looked over at his reading alcove on the east side of his room. It had a nice, quaint window seat that rested below three tall windows partially covered by dark blue curtains. A few of the windows were left open, letting in the nice, warm summer breeze. Very different compared to rain spewing in at seventy miles per hour and relying on lightning to see around. Dan’s mind shifted back and forth to the king’s bedroom. He flinched, in a glimpse, he saw the silhouette of the hooded man, standing in his reading alcove. The vision vanished in an instant, leaving Dan discombobulated. He reached over at his nightstand, grabbed a glass a water, and took a long swig until he drank the entire thing down. The young crocodile sighed as he read the word etched on the glass. “Siltmoor.”
Dan lived in the Longreed’s Siltmoor Estate that was part of the remote, small town of Edora Pond. The last place you’d expect anything interesting to happen. Life was quite simple. Every morning, Dan’s father would go to work for a large real estate company called AIDA and every afternoon he would return with the same fake smile that Dan could see through and barely spoke a word at dinner. His mother would stay at home and … well he wasn’t too sure what his mother did for a living, but he usually spotted her in the kitchen reading how-to books about hosting parties or tabloids and of course always made sure Dan was well dressed before he left for school. The Longreeds liked to keep up appearances. Balls, Galas, celebrity meetups – you name it, the Longreeds probably went to them, mostly Dan’s mother dragging his dad along. The Siltmoor estate itself could hold at least seventy people, easy, but it was a hard sell to get anyone to go all the way to the far border of Amphius for a house party.
He stood up, yawned and stretched out his arms and legs. With one of his claws, Dan picked at four sharp teeth that protruded from each side of his short mouth, clearing out anything that was left over from last night’s dinner. A feeling of dread came over him. I can’t go downstairs. I’m sure Mom and Dad would ground me for what I said last night. He ran his fingers through his straight, brown hair and scratched his scaly scalp. Well, I need to tell Mark about this weird dream. He’ll probably know of some king in some distant land somewhere who was knocked out in the middle of a storm.
He pulled open a few drawers to his dresser. Out of the top one he took out a fresh, white t-shirt and underwear. Out of the middle one, a blue polo shirt, and finally, out of the bottom, a pair of khaki shorts. The summer, casual outfit that was pretty much the only thing he liked from his wardrobe. The cotton fibers of his shirt let in the summer breeze and since he was cold blooded crocodile it was good to stay cool. He got dressed and looked out one of the tall windows in his reading alcove.
From atop a small hill and within his east facing tower, Dan had an amazing view. To the north, there was grassland for seventy acres or so until it reached a high brick wall. The extent of the Siltmoor estate. To the east, the surrounding Malnumbra forest grew wild for miles with trees the size of small mountains. From his quaint reading alcove, he felt like a king surveying his land. The rumbling of thunder entered his mind. He shook his head to rid himself of the sounds and put his hands on his hips as he spotted the gardener tending to a flower display by the east gate, and the cook picking a few vegetables from the garden. If he wasn’t a king or prince, he was the next closest thing.
Although the Longreeds owned about ninety-five percent of the land in Edora Pond, they weren’t the only family that lived there. Beside where Malnumbra forest and Edora Pond met, there was a weathered, shoddy cottage. It rested under the cool shade of Malnumbra forest’s mammoth trees. Usually there was a lot of commotion around the old cottage, but this morning it was quiet. I wonder if he’s home. He squinted his eyes from a shimmer off the water. Looking to the south, he spotted something floating in the middle of a small pond. What? He took a double take and noticed it wasn’t floating, but sitting on the edge of a wooden jetty. There you are!
In a chaotic assembly of muffled thuds and bangs, he burst out of his bedroom and raced down a winding staircase to the first floor. He jumped over a few steps as he twisted his body along the curved edge of the stairs, reaching the bottom in a matter of seconds. He landed on the last step with a loud BANG! and ran down a short hall toward the lit tile floor of the kitchen. He smelled the strong aroma of coffee and biscuits. Crap! They’re up! He came to a screeching stop at the entrance to the kitchen as a small section of the rug in the hall scrunched up under his feet. Dan placed his hands on the door frame and precariously poked in his head and snout.
At the kitchen table, Mr. and Mrs. Longreed were quietly eating their breakfast in their pajamas. Mr. Longreed had a newspaper opened, covering his snout as Mrs. Longreed was intently reading a how-to book while sipping a cup of tea.
Dan’s stomach wound up in knots. How didn’t they hear me?! He didn’t fret on it and slowly tiptoed toward the hallway on the opposite end of the kitchen as his parents kept going about their business.
He froze.
“Dan, we’d like to talk with you about last night,” said Mrs. Longreed, keeping her focus on her book as she was just about to finish a page. Her snout was a big longer and ended to a sharp point as she had red, shoulder-length hair that was styled into a mom like bob.
Dan shook at the sharpness in her voice. He was only inches away from the hall, or to Dan, inches from freedom. He balled up his fists, took a deep breath, and walked into the hall. The ultimate cold shoulder, but Dan couldn’t spare any time to be lectured to about how ungrateful he was or why he needed to “understand”. He had more urgent things on his mind.
The tone in his mother’s voice was stern and vexed. “Daniel, we’re serious, come back here.”
Dan ran down the hall toward the front door like he was being chased, turned the golden knob and burst open the large door. The growing heat of the sun filled his body with an energizing warmth as he sped down the gradual slope of his front lawn toward an unlocked gate within a high wall of vines and bushes. In twisted metal lettering along the top frame spelt, “Siltmoor”. He emphatically pushed it open. The metal creaked and whined along its rusted hinges and closed with a loud crash behind him. As he neared the end of his family’s property, a group of small birds fluttered passed him and hovered by a lone figure that sat at the end of the jetty. It was hunched over with its long snout, hovering over the water. Hmm… maybe he needs a pick me up.
Dan crossed over the Langshard Roadway, a gravel path that was the only way in and out of Edora Pond.
Once he reached the other side, Dan stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He felt a little out of shape. It was the first day of summer after all. Plus, if it wasn’t for the vivid dream he had this morning, he would still be resting soundly and cozy in his bed.
As Dan neared the jetty, he could overhear a conservation between his friend and one of the small birds. These small birds, in particular, were traveling historians. They fluttered from all corners of the world, collecting stories, and then went to anyone that was willing to listen to them ramble on about Herbus Langshard or Daniel Crocus or Irmina Willowtrout. Some of the birds were very good storytellers and others were as interesting as a rock. Dan wasn’t much of a storyteller himself or even liked to make up stories, but something about the bird’s tales helped him escape his mundane life in the outskirts.
Dan looked down as something flittered in the water. Through the crystal-clear surface were a plenitude of fish. All different colors and shades. Hmmm… Dan formed an idea.
The chorus of small birds landed in the water, forming a circle around the end of the jetty.
A yellow bird with a plump chest and a black streak that perfectly divided its body into two symmetrical halves was in the middle of sharing a story with the lone figure at the end of the jetty. “The two secluded homes of the Longreeds and Snags stood alone along Edora Pond. After what later became known as the Clash War … ”
Dan tuned out the bird, knowing full well that this was not going to be another winning narrative, and devised a way to say ‘hello’. He took off his blue polo, folded it, and placed it neatly on the jetty – can’t get an expensive shirt wet or he wouldn’t hear the end of it from his mother. He silently dipped his feet into the water and saw the fish scatter away from his toes. He slid his hand along the edge of the jetty to guide him deeper into the pond. After he was halfway along, he plunged under the surface and swam toward his friend. His body moved through the water with incredible speed, but I guess that’s expected from a crocodile. He reached the end of the jetty and waded a few feet underneath his friend’s toes. He was able to hold his breath for a long time about five minutes and thirteen seconds to be exact – a Rockliffe Middle School record. He waited about twenty more seconds, having been nearly a minute now, waiting for the opportune moment and then it was there. Now! An explosion of bubbles burst as he spun around and swam toward the bottom of the pond. He then turned around, gaining speed, like a torpedo. The bubble trail left behind formed an arc, angled back toward the surface. Fwoosh! Dan’s body flung out of the water, missing his friend’s head by an inch, and then with a loud splash reentered the pond on the other side of the jetty. The small birds were frightened and fluttered away as water rained down onto the jetty.
Dan’s friend snapped his body backwards, knocking his head on the jetty. “Ow!” he cried.
Dan’s head surfaced, holding a wide grin, with the satisfaction of seeing his friend scrambling to sit up. He burst out into laughter and pointed at him. “I got you good, Mark.”
Mark dusted off his cut-up jeans and t-shirt. He grimaced from his long snout, displaying a fine top row of teeth, edged like a bandsaw. His right hand rubbed his throbbing head through shaggy brown hair.
“Why would you do that?” Mark exclaimed.
Dan continued to laugh.
“You’re a jerk.” Mark grimaced with pain.
Dan simmered down and swam to the jetty. He lifted himself up, sat down next to Mark, and shook his wet hair – getting a good layer of water onto his friend.
“Stop!”
Dan shook his head. “You know you can really act like you have something shoved up your butt sometimes.” He reached out his arms like he was giving the sky a hug. “Relax. This is the first day of summer. Let’s have fun.”
Mark folded his arms and returned to his seat at the end of the jetty. Something was on his mind. If you just looked at his eyes, it was pretty transparent. He couldn’t seem to keep his focus. Even his voice started to trail off. “Well then stop doing that stuff.”
Dan was confused. “What?”
Mark repeated himself, but his voice trailed off again as the book continued to pull his attention away.
Dan grunted. “Well, whatever, I’m going to figure out how to have fun this morning. See ya later, numbie.”
Mark sighed and grabbed a ten-inch-thick volume on fantasy stories that was resting beside him. You know magic, wizards, and all that sort of stuff.
Dan rose up and walked back to the shore. As he stepped closer to the beach, the dark bedroom and the menacing storm from his dream filled the thoughts of his mind like flipping to a station on the radio. He stopped on the jetty as his mind was transported back to that night. The room was just like he left it. The flickers of lightning outside illuminated the green archer above the canopy bed. The crown was still on the nightstand with one hilt missing. Suddenly one of the golden window shutters burst open with the hurricane wind. Everything in the room moved with the strong gales, tugged and tossed about, but something also entered the room. Through the open window, a black smoke cloud weaved inside not impacted by the force of the storm. It hovered by the window, swirled into a tornado like funnel, and then took the shape of the hooded man. It stood for a moment, then lunged forward consuming everything in darkness.
Creak! The wood of the jetty brought Dan’s mind back to the pond. The remnants of thunder and howling winds echoed in his head. What the hell! He looked back at Mark, taking a few deep breaths. I need to tell Mark! He walked back to his friend and sat down with a little bit less hop in his step, forgetting all about his shirt.
Mark kicked some water with his feet and flipped to a new page in his book. He read silently for a few moments until he sensed Dan sitting next to him and sighed. “So, nothing else fun to do today?”
Dan didn’t know how to describe a dream. He definitely wasn’t as good a storyteller as Mark or even like some of the small birds, but this was a story he couldn’t get wrong. He scratched his head and spoke soflty. “Well I had a question for you?”
Mark flipped through another page. His focus purely on the book, but he stopped and marked his spot with a fold on the upper right-hand corner of the page, then turned to face Dan. “A question for me? Mr. Somethinguphisbutt?”
Dan sighed, realizing that he didn’t have the greatest entrance this morning. Even though, it was pretty funny. He wasn’t the type of person to read people’s feelings or know when was the right time to ask a question. He just needed answers and he needed them now. “Well, anyways, I had a question about a dream I had this morning.”
Mark tilted his head back and scrutinized his friend. “Dream, when’s the last time you remembered a dream?”
“I know, right?” Dan excitedly stretched out his arms. “It just felt so real, you know. Like I was really there.”
Mark shifted his body, putting his book down on the jetty. “What was it about?”
Dan took a moment to recollect some things, but he couldn’t wait to process everything. Just the big details. “There was this storm going on and a guy in his bedroom and then another guy was there and there was this thing with a crown and history and then there was a shadow.” Dan stopped as a cold chill traveled up his spine.
Mark nodded. “Okay … so there were two guys in a bedroom during a storm?”
Dan quickly bobbed his head.
Mark processed the vague details. “So was one guy a king? I heard crown in there somewhere.”
“Yes! I thought that too… I thought if there is a crown there must be a king.”
“And, what about the other guy what was unique about him?”
“Well, he was definitely Amphian.”
Mark furrowed his brow. “How do you know that?”
Dan gestured with his hand. “Well, he kind of had the same skin as us and stuff, but he was like huge.” Dan puffed out his shoulders and chest and curled his arms inward into a bodybuilder’s pose.
Mark shook his head. “Hmm. It may be helpful to narrow it down to some people, but that sounds a lot like your dad’s boss. I would need more information before we could deduce anything else.” He lightly grabbed his chin and groaned.
Dan grunted. “True, it does sound a lot like him, but who else could it be?” His face lit up. “What about those Palidromedans?”
Mark cleared his throat. “Well … first its Palindromedai and second …they have scales but not like scaly skin like us.”
Dan growled, waving his arms and legs about kicking up water from the pond as well as releasing any water lingering on his clothing onto Mark.
Mark shielded his eyes and growled in return.
“Palindromed … Ach’ whatever their called … What I’m trying to say is that this guy resembled an Amphian … and stop it with the spelling and grammar check.”
Mark put up his arms in surrender. “Okay, okay.”
Dan calmed down and stared out at the water. It was a nice warm morning, filled with plenty of sunlight and a pleasant breeze. The perfect weather to read a book or share a story.
Mark cleared his throat. “But can you put your shirt back on?”
They both laughed, easy when you have been friends since you could remember.
“What … getting jealous, Mark?” Dan quipped.
“Yeah, you bet.”
Dan stood up, did one last shake of his hair, and walked back to the start of the jetty. “Okay, but you have to solve this dream for me.”
Mark laughed. “Okay.”
On his way to grab his shirt, Dan looked up at the Siltmoor estate. From the pond, it looked majestic standing high on top of the hill. The expertly trimmed hedge wall, providing the perfect amount of privacy. His high tower windows glimmering in the morning light. He sighed and went down to pick up his shirt. As he put it on, his heart stopped as a loud whine and crash came from his house. He looked at the old metal gate and saw his little brother, Freddie, running toward him.
“Dan!” came a high-pitched voice.
He sighed and shook his head, knowing full well that his brother was being used as a messenger.
“Dan!” he squeaked. “Mom wants to see you.” Freddie stopped at the Langshard Roadway and waved Dan over.
Dan was hesitant, having felt like he had said enough last night. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation, but at least an honest one. He couldn’t see them after what he said. Not yet.
Freddie became as enthusiastic as a ten-year-old could and waved both his arms – beckoning his brother like a traffic cop.
Dan shook his head. “Go back home, Freddie.”
“But, Dan they really want to –“
“GO BACK HOME!” Dan voice boomed with a low almost
adult tone.
Freddie was startled, scrambling backwards until he fell on his back. He sat up, looking mortified. Tears coated his eyes.
Dan’s mouth was clenched so tightly his jaw went numb. He could barely move with his tensed muscles.
Freddie got back on his feet, patted down his bright green polo shirt, and grunted toward Dan. His voice high pitched and whiny. “Stupid! Mom and Dad said they just want to talk to you.”
Dan was frozen, barely able to breathe through his strained lungs, but he was able to shake his head. Too stubborn to move.
Freddie threw up his arms in surrender. “Fine! You go off and be stupid. I’m going back home.”
Dan took a deep breath, relaxing his body, and turned toward Freddie. He felt bad taking out his anger on his little brother, but his parents just made him so … well, upset doesn’t even match it felt. Only if Freddie didn’t mention them at all then things would have been fine. His voice became mellow like the lapping waves on the shore. “Freddie, I’m –“
Crash! The metal gate slammed shut, making Dan jolt. He felt those would be the last words he would say to his brother for a long time.
“So what was that about?”
Dan spun around and saw Mark, holding onto his large fantasy book and rubbing the back of his sore head.
Dan puffed out his nostrils. “Nothing.”
AHHHH!!!!!
Mark dropped his book as a shrill scream echoed across the pond.
“What now?!” Dan exclaimed.
The area around the pond became uncomfortably quiet. Even the water rippled less than normal when it met the shore.
Mark’s hands shivered as he reached down to pick up his book. “W-what w-was t-t-that?” he stammered.
Dan looked up at the tall windows of his reading alcove, wishing he was back in his large, cloud-like bed. He rubbed his tired eyes and yawned. “I don’t know.”
Behind the high hedge wall came a group of agitated voices. A woman wailed at the top of her lungs and ran down the driveway to her car, parked on the side of the road. Dan recognized her as the gardener.
“I wonder what is going on with Beatrice?”
A yellow sedan revved to life, squealed backwards onto the Langshard Roadway and floored it out of Edora Pond into the Rockliffe Marsh. A sweeping dust cloud was left in its abrupt wake.
“Where is she going?” Mark asked.
A man’s voice was muffled on the other side of the wall. He sounded like he was on the opposite end of an unpleasant phone call – the kind that don’t tend to end well. He raised his voice, apparently vexed by his conversation, and then went uncomfortably silent.
Dan took a step toward the steel gate and paused. He couldn’t go and see them. Not yet, but he had to at least see. He crept up and poked his head over to look through the spaces in the metal gate.
On the other side, rubbing a scratched and rusted pocket watch, stood a middle-aged alligator with a tan, dusty button-down shirt. He snapped his head toward the gate, having seen a bit of movement.
Dan ducked his head in and felt his pulse begin to race. After a few moments, he poked out his head again.
He saw the man check his pocket watch, close it with a sharp snap, and run back to Dan’s home.
“Mr. Bog?” Dan asked himself.
He rubbed his shoulders as a strong breeze chilled his wet shirt. What is going on? It was truly unlike any other summer morning.
Mark was frozen on the shore of the pond, tightly grasping his book. He kept his wits about him as he scanned his surroundings with surgical precision. The pond was quiet and tranquil. Well at least that was normal, but the commotion at the Siltmoor estate that was definitely out of the blue. Mark knew the Longreeds led quiet, exclusive lives on top the hill and certainly didn’t want anyone outside their walls to know they were having a good time. Mark knew that all too well, even though he had been Dan’s friend for years, the Longreeds never let him visit their home. He always thought that it was because he would dirty it up or that he came from a lower middle-class family, but Dan never told him the true reason. He mostly just told him it was because the house wasn’t ready yet. Whatever that means.
Mark looked over at Dan, took a deep breath, and then walked down the Langshard Roadway.
“Where are you going?” Dan asked.
“Home.”
“Well, hold up.” Dan caught up to his friend and slapped him firmly on the back.
Mark teetered forward and gasped.
“Let me walk you home.” Dan smiled.
Mark could somewhat make out his shoddy home nestled in the shade of the high trees, then looked back up at the Siltmoor. “I’ll be okay … Shouldn’t you be worried about what’s going on at your house?”
Dan shook his head callously. “Ah, Mr. Bog and Beatrice. They were always very … odd … To be honest I was actually waiting for the day that Beatrice would run away from my mom.”
Mark furrowed his brow, having never understood the mysterious and exclusive life at the Siltmoor. “Why?”
Dan sighed and looked at Mark like he already knew the answer. “Why do you think?”
Mark could only think of one person that would irritate anyone at the Siltmoor enough to scream and run away, Mrs. Longreed. Dan’s mother was sometimes kind to Mark, but mostly she acted like a typical rich snob. Too perfect and fancy to even think of talking to anyone less perfect and less fancy than herself. Always making Mark feel guilty for taking anything from them like one time he borrowed a pencil and Dan’s mother acted as if she had given him the key to the city. Although you don’t write with a key and a key can’t be easily sharpened down to a stub, Mrs. Longreed expected it back in complete condition. Nothing else. Let’s just say that after that Mark handed her half the pencil that she gave to him. He wasn’t in her good graces. I wouldn’t want to work for her either, Mark thought, I would be a stressed-out bomb.
The boys shivered.
Ahh! Another piercing scream, but this one came from behind Mark’s home and eerily echoed across the pond. Crrrack! A door burst open with the shattering of glass. Heavy stomps shook the ground with a thunderous boom. The trees swayed violently within a powerful breeze that wove through the air like a snake and knocked the boys on their back. Oompf! They bumped their heads on the ground. Dan turned onto his side and looked back at the cottage. He could see passed the garage into the backyard, the blurry outline of a large alligator. He smiled. Mr. Snag. He scurried back a few feet as an even larger figure took shape, grabbed Mr. Snag and another with ease and ran into the forest.
Mark readjusted himself and stood up. “I have never seen the wind do that before. It’s impossible unless …” He grimaced as the pain throbbed on the back of his head. He certainly knew this many hits would lead to a concussion. He had seen it too many times at his brother’s wrestling matches.
Dan stood up, dusted himself off, and looked back at the backyard. A pit formed in his stomach. What the hell was that? Something consumed him that hadn’t in many years. Fear. The cooler, shaded breeze brushed along his wet shirt, giving him a bit of a chill along his spine. He stomped down the road, over the toy littered minefield of a front yard, and stepped onto the front porch. It creaked with each step with some of its rotted out boards, something that would never be heard of at the Siltmoor. He looked through the dusty windows, spun around and waved over his friend. “Mark, come here!”
Mark’s approach was a bit slower and meticulous. He made sure to avoid each toy in his path until he reached the front porch. “What is it?”
Dan pointed at the window. Behind the dusted glass was a large living room just big enough to fit Mark’s large family, but it was empty.
“Where is everyone? … Doesn’t Mary usually read by the window?”
Mark nodded. “Yeah she does, but this weekend it’s been just me since all my social siblings had end of school parties to go to.” He then shook his head and scrutinized Dan. “Hey .. How do you know Mary usually sits here?”
Dan looked away from his friend. “Well … you know I come here all the time and she’s usually sitting here. You know … reading. Being dumb.”
Mark shook his head. “What’s up with you?”
Dan cleared his throat and opened the door. “Let’s see if anyone is home.”
Mark didn’t continue to pursue it any further and followed Dan inside.
Mark’s family were used to people coming and going and on many occasions having Dan over for dinner. Dan’s nostrils twitched with the rich, welcoming aroma of Mrs. Snag’s famous Chicken Port Stew. There was never a moment when one wouldn’t feel welcome at the Snag cottage. There was always food to be shared and fun to be had even though they could barely afford it. Dan stepped into the small foyer of the cottage and scanned the cushioned bench where Mary would read every weekend and the group family photos, one for each year, that hung along the walls in dusty, cracked frames.
Fwap! Came a noise from the back of the cottage. Fwap! Fwap! Mark walked inside. “What is that noise?”
Dan looked down the main hall that divided the home, through the open entryway of the kitchen, at a rectangular shadow that snapped back and forth. “It must be something in the kitchen.” He ran down the hall, through the kitchen entryway, and stopped dead. His eyes widened and froze as the rest of his body was petrified for a faint moment. Pooled on the floor and splattered along the walls was hot, red blood. Fwap! Fwap! The sound brought feeling back to Dan’s body and he snapped his head back into the hall. “Mark stay right there.”
Mark listened and waited in the hall as Dan entered the kitchen.
He stepped toward the blood and saw the cause of the loud noise. Dangling on one hinge was the screen door to the backyard. It was bent and snapped near the middle of its frame, painted in splattered blood, and had a large bowling ball size hole in the screen itself. Dan mumbled. “What the …. ?” He followed the blood from the broken door, out onto the stone steps toward a wide, red smear on the backyard lawn. What the hell was that thing that took Mr. Snag? The evidence in the kitchen didn’t give him much hope. One person can only bleed so much even Mr. Snag had his limit. Dan walked back toward the hall, but stopped.
Mark was already in the entryway. His face was a pale green as he stared at the pool of blood.
Dan held up his hands. “Now look Mark. We are going to call the cops and everything should be alright.”
Tears streaked down Mark’s face and snout. He held a blank expression on his face. It was unlike Mark to show emotion. He stumbled with his words. “W-W-Where are they?”
Dan lowered his hands and shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Mark sniffled and looked at the broken screen door. “Damn! The door is busted!”
Dan nodded. “Something broke in and took them. I saw it.”
Mark scanned the rest of the kitchen. It was small and homey if you were used to old cottages. On the far end was a long dining table that stretched down a narrow section lined with a few cabinets and a painting of Edora Pond - one of the only nice, swanky things that the Snags owned. There was a small open section splattered with blood that connected to a bar and the actual kitchen with a decent amount of counter space and the one thing that the Snags were all proud of, their refrigerator. It was probably the most expensive item they owned beside the painting and definitely the most important one. He was careful to avoid broken plates on the floor near the dining table and lukewarm packaged meats that were scattered by his feet. It was like a scene from one of his favorite detective stories. He stood in shock.
Dan paced and mumbled to himself, probably devising some impromptu plan.
Mark studied details of the room. The angle in which the blood was splattered, the angle in which the screen door was struck and how much force it took to break it. He wiped the tears from his eyes and stared at the one thing he tried to avoid looking at, the pool of blood. It was the size of a dinner plate, but to Mark, appeared like it consumed the entire floor. That much blood loss would make someone faint. Mom … Dad. I hope you are alright. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair and then stopped as the analytical, detective mind turned on. The angles of the blood splatters looks like it came from punches to the face. The pool could be from when someone’s head struck the floor and the blood pooled by their face. The broken plates and loose meat suggest a struggle, possibly when mom was trying to take out meat for dinner. He pictured his father’s bludgeoned face as it was struck by a mammoth fist. Something his father was accustomed to sometimes as a professional wrestler. Something big came in here. He then looked at the door. Hm… it’s hard to make out, but if the blood stains are on the screen. …. He then looked at the floor and saw the blood smeared as if someone had been dragged across it. He fought back his emotions as he struggled to be like the detectives from his favorite stories. The damage to the door suggested that the struggle culminated to the door in which someone was burst through with enough force to break straight through the screen and fall on the other side. He took a deep breath, walked over to the island in the kitchen and sat down on one of the rickety stools. He rested his head on the countertop and closed his eyes. It was all much to take in at once.
Dan stopped and looked over at his friend. He tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to him. He just stood there helpless and stared at Mark. He hated not knowing what to do next, but he had to say something. He sighed and walked over toward the counter. “Mark, I –.”
Dan stopped himself as something wasn’t right.
A sound grew louder from outside like a train coming into the station. It started with a low thrum and then turned to a multitude of flitting sounds as if a pieces of paper were being whirled about in a cyclone. Dan snapped his head toward the window. At first nothing was there, but then … “Mark, get down!”
The windows rattled for a moment and then SMASH! Within a hurricane like wind, a meshed group of colors broke through the windows in the kitchen. Shattered glass cascaded across the tiled floor as a whirlwind pushed Dan down near Mark’s feet. He quickly got up, grabbed Mark and pulled him underneath the countertop.
CRASH! SPLICK! SPLACK! Drinking glasses, plates, and anything else just loosely placed on the dining room table were sent smashing to the floor. Some of the broken pieces were picked up by a tailwind and flung toward the boys. Dan grabbed one of the stools, tilted it forward and blocked most of it with the seat. He looked over at his friend.
“Mark, are you okay?”
Mark was a bit in shock. His eyes still adjusting. “What is going on?”
“This thing burst into the kitchen and started to destroy everything.”
Mark poked out his head.
Dan pushed him back and dropped the stool. Some broken pieces of a plate grazed by his blue polo and hit the wall behind him. “Are you stupid? Stay here!”
Mark grimaced when he hit his head against the wall. “I wanted to see what was out there.”
“And do what? … get killed?”
And then just like that. The sounds and wreckage stopped.
A few bowls finished wobbling on the floor and then it was truly silent.
Dan put a finger up to his snout, lifted his head up slowly, and peeked over the counter. He didn’t know what he would expect maybe a large snake or a bunch of painted rocks or even just a rainbow flag blown in by a powerful wind. Then he saw what was actually there. Floating like a bunch of tied up balloons above the kitchen sink was a flock of birds.
Each one had a different shade of feathers and a unique set of beaks. Nothing like the ones from the traveling historians they met by the jetty. These were craggy like a rock face with a single sharp edge on the top that shimmered like a sword’s edge. Their brows were more pronounced and rigid and they had three fingers with sharp talons that sprouted from the ends of their wings.
Dan couldn’t identify what they were, but he didn’t feel entirely threatened. Even though this flock broke through the windows and trashed the place. He stood up and stared into the center of the mass of colors. “What are you?”
The heads of the birds twitched and craned out toward Dan. They spoke in unison. “Message.”
Dan ducked down behind the counter as the swarm of birds, within a snake like formation, abruptly exited out the windows. Soon the kitchen was silent and empty again.
“Are they gone?” Mark asked.
Dan nodded, stood up and headed toward the broken screen door. He looked outside and saw the bird swarm hovering in an amorphous blob about six feet about the ground. “Well they said they had a message so let’s see what they have to say.”
He carefully pushed along the hinges to open it and walked down the steps to the back yard. The blood traveled past the steps onto a small portion of the back lawn in the shape of a rectangle. What the hell did this? He also kept a close eye on the birds as he heard his friend follow him outside.
Mark carefully descended the stained steps and out onto the back lawn. He paused as he silently stared at the blood patch. He wanted to find some creative way to describe the events that unfolded, but nothing came to mind.
The swarm shifted and broke apart as the birds started to take their places within the forest. Dan staggered backward as he looked up at the high branches of the oak trees. Red, glowing eyes were steadily focused on them. Sharp, serrated beaks, perfectly suited for a meaty meal, chomped and clamped. All of the birds were perched along the branches, forming a rainbow wall of feathers and talons.
Dan breathed heavily, feeling the fear start to grip him. Like a wild dog forced into a corner, he lashed out at the birds. “So, what do you want?”
The birds ruffled their feathers. Their blood-red eyes focused on Dan. There was a moment of silence and then a red feathered bird lifted off its branch. It steadily fluttered down as if it was attached to a string and hovered above the ground.
Dan took a step back, prepared for an attack. He noticed a black edge to the red bird’s wings that was ragged on its left and a few deep gashes in its beak. This one definitely had seen some action.
It curved its contorted beak into a smile and began to speak in a deep, crackling voice.
I come with glad tidings from the land within the wood,
To relay news about the location of your brood,
That lie under stone and earth from forty years past,
Where the deep, breath of Fierston ended the war at last,
A challenge is offered that is incredibly arduous,
To find your family within a cavern, caliginous,
No one else should know of your journey,
Or your elders lives will end with no mercy,
For these dark trees are terribly cursed,
And have no clemency for those who are not well-versed,
You only have when the sun sets for the seventh time,
Or no longer your parents you’ll find.
May you succeed or fail with the rest,
With much luck from the Warlock of the Forest
The red bird cawed three times, released a rolled-up scroll from its talons, and disappeared into the dark woods. Dan and Mark twitched as the other birds in one joint gesture rose up from their perched positions, and followed their red leader into the darkness.
Dan shook his head and looked back at Mark who was petrified. “What?! … What did you say, you stupid bird? … Yeah! You better leave! Cowards!”
His wild voice echoed off the trees.
Dan kicked the grass and turned. He saw standing by the blood patch with a horrified stare was Mark. Silent and still.
“Do you know what those things were?” Dan asked. If anyone was going to know what they were it would be the kid who reads all day.
Mark didn’t move. He didn’t even acknowledge Dan. He just stared out into the forest.
Dan grunted. “Are you going to say anything?”
Mark’s scales went a pale green and his hands were shaking.
With no response, Dan trudged over to the rolled-up scroll, picked it up and forcibly put it into Mark’s hand. “I need you to tell me what this means.”
Dan couldn’t think at this point. His mind was too preoccupied with fantastical birds and messages that were probably written by a college professor. What the hell does ‘caligonous’ mean anyways?
Mark looked down at the scroll. It unraveled easily in his hands, revealing a written version of the red bird’s message in dark splattered ink. He read at the top, “Dear Mark” and his arms and legs went weak. Nauseous by the sight of his name on the ransom note, Mark slumped to the side, leaning against a tree. He looked back up into the woods, hoping to rid the sick feeling. Behind the first few rows of trees was a wall of darkness. He couldn’t see anything, but sensed something lurking behind the gloomy veil. What do you do when you find out that your parents are taken? How do you react? Not even his books could have prepared for how he would be feeling in this moment. Mark couldn’t look down at the message. It was hard to anyways now that tears blurred his vision and his snout began to sniffle. He closed his eyes, rolled up the parchment and tucked it into the side of his pants, hand-me-downs which were two sizes too big. He wiped his bloodshot eyes and looked over at his friend. His entire body was trembling, making it hard to say anything. He was only able to summon a few words. “Dan … what is going on?”