The Hero's Chamber

by Ian Newton

Chapter 2

  Mr. Miller

  Andrew ran for as long as he could, but fear and desperation could only take him so far. By the time he got back to the cobblestones, he was limping and wheezing. Light-headed from dehydration and unable to do anything but walk fast, Andrew staggered hopelessly down the road.

  Just when he felt like he might be getting closer to the town, the road turned sharply and split in two. On his left the cobblestone road continued into the distance and on his right, a deeply rutted farm road climbed up and over a short, steep hill.

  With waves of nausea washing over him, he stopped at the junction, put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.

  When he lifted his head, he thought a haze of dust was hovering just above the surface of the dirt road, but he wasn’t sure. He knew the dirt road would lead him away from the town, and if he guessed wrong, Connor was as good as dead.

  Precious moments slipped away while he struggled to decide.

  “I have to make it to town,” he told himself.

  Starting back down the cobblestone road, he took one last look to his right. His eyes followed the contour of the hill up to the top where, just off the surface of the road, little flecks of dirt and dust danced in the sunlight.

  He veered right, reached the top of the hill and glimpsed a rider on horseback just over the next rise. Hope rushed back into him as he tried to yell, but he wasn’t loud enough. Exhausted and panicked, he kept running and walking as fast as he could.

  When he was fifty yards from the rider, the man reigned in his skinny gray mare, and the two made eye contact. With Andrew wheezing and limping up next to his stirrup, the man looked down and in a dry, slow voice, he asked, “What did you do boy, kill somebody?”

  Between gasps, Andrew panted, “It’s my friend...Connor Duncan...back by the lake...he’s bleeding to death on the road...Can you help me?”

  The man’s eyes widened, and his expression tightened as he dug his heels into the horse. The horse reared, the man yanked hard on the reins and turned back toward the main road, yelling, “Hyah, hyah!”

  The sound of the horse quickly faded into the distance and Andrew took a few minutes to catch his breath. As soon as the last wave of nausea and dizziness passed, he started limping back toward the main road.

  He held out his dirty, blood-covered hands and chuckled like a crazy person. His palms were scraped-up, and there didn’t seem to be an inch of his body that wasn’t covered in dirt or blood.

  “He’s right, I do look like a killer,” Andrew thought, making his smile fade as he pictured Connor’s lifeless body back on the road.

  Andrew had almost made it down the hill and back to the split in the road when he heard the horse racing toward him on the cobblestones. The gallop slowed to a canter as it came clip-clopping around the corner. When the man spurred it back to a full gallop, he went speeding by with Connor’s body draped over the front of the saddle.

  It was a long, lonely walk to the town, and Andrew had plenty of time to think. After more than a mile, when he finally reached the gate, he passed two guards wearing faded uniforms. The tall, thin man and the short, fat one just looked on in astonishment.

  Andrew didn’t make eye contact, and not a single word was uttered between them. The only thought going through his head was, “I killed Connor. My best friend is dead.”

  Wandering aimlessly among the first houses he came to, he noticed the skinny gray mare tied to a broken down fence in front of an old house. The horse was blood stained around its chest and front legs.

  Standing in the street, next to the foaming horse, he looked at the old split-rail fence. Most of it had fallen down into the yard where it had practically disappeared among the tangle of weeds and dead grass. The only green thing in sight was a single dandelion growing next to a dead oak tree in the middle of the yard.

  The path leading to the front door was barely visible. It looked like there use to be stepping-stones, but Andrew could only make out a few broken pieces.

  Fifty feet up the path was a house that looked like it hadn’t been painted in a hundred years. The whitewash used to cover its plain, sun-beaten exterior was worn away. Only little flakes remained under the bottom edges of the wood siding. Most of the windows were crooked and boarded up from the outside. Even the roof over the little porch leaned to one side and bowed in the middle. The only thing on the entire structure in good repair was the oversized front door. It had a large letter ‘D’ carved in it that was visible from the street.

  Following the overgrown path to the porch, he walked along the edge of the steps making his way around several missing boards until he reached the front door. He hesitantly reached for the faded metal knocker hanging in the center of the big letter ‘D’ when he heard the muffled voice of a man coming from inside the house. The voice faded in and out, and he heard something scuffling against the floor.

  Andrew gave the iron ball three good raps, and called out, “Hello? I’m looking for my friend with the hurt foot. Is anyone home?”

  “Help! Andrew, help me! This guy is crazy!” Connor yelled, from inside the house.

  Andrew panicked and reached for the handle. Twisting it, he felt the latch pull back, and he pushed the door open. It banged against the inside wall, bouncing halfway back.

  “Help me, Andrew! Save me!!”

  Andrew stepped through the doorway, and it was much darker inside the house than he anticipated. Expecting a fight, he instinctively crouched and held up his fists, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

  In a few seconds, the darkness lightened into shadows, and he saw a run of stairs going up to the second story. Straight ahead, the hallway continued into darkness and on his left, through an open set of double doors, Connor was screaming, a man was yelling, and the floorboards were shaking.

  Andrew swallowed hard, stepped up to the edge of the doorway and peered around the corner. Connor was flat on his back with his head toward the hallway, his legs kicking wildly. A man wearing a bloodstained shirt stood over Connor with his foot in the center of his chest, pinning him to the floor. In one hand, the man held an iron poker fresh from the coals in the fireplace behind him. Its orange glow was menacing in the dim light. With his other hand, he fumbled with his belt buckle, trying to get it undone. Connor’s legs thrashed and squirmed, his hands pushing at the man’s boot in vain.

  Andrew braced himself against the wall as his knees started to give out.

  The man looked at Andrew slumping against the doorway, and demanded, “Get over here, boy, and hold him down or I’m likely to do more harm than good!”

  Connor was white as a corpse, and his screaming had turned into begging. He kept saying, “No, no, no, don’t do it. Please don’t, no, no.” All the time flailing his legs across the floor and trying to sit up.

  Andrew sunk to one knee.

  “I said hold him down!”

  “Wha…wha…what are you gonna do to him?” Andrew stammered.

  Connor’s head twisted back in an unnatural way, and he looked at Andrew with bulging eyes, pleading, “No. Don’t let the crazy old man touch me! Let me go. Help me!!”

  “I’m gonna save his life! Now get over here and hold him down!”

  Andrew never made it to his feet; he just crawled into the small room until he was behind Connor’s head. Looking up at the glowing poker, he asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  The man took his foot off Connor’s chest, bent down and grabbed his face. His shirt sleeve pulled up to his elbow as his gigantic hand covered Connor’s chin and mouth.

  In the dim light, Andrew stared in horror at the man’s forearm. Every inch of skin was pockmarked with reddish-purple bumps and pits. There were twisted pieces of scar tissue with hairs growing out of them at odd, disgusting angles. His arm wasn’t even straight. It didn’t even look like an arm!

  T
he man squeezed Connor’s face and pulled him off his back until they were face to face. Looking Connor straight in the eyes, the man calmly demanded, “Stop moving around. Stop screaming. Stop fighting me or you’re going to die, and there won’t be anything anybody can do to help you.”

  He let go, and Connor hit the floor with a heavy thud. The man stood up, took off his thick, leather belt, folded it over and stuffed the strap in Connor’s mouth.

  Looking at the glowing poker, he said, “Bite down boy, and it won’t hurt so much.”

  Turning his attention to Andrew, he said, “Pin his shoulders to the floor.”

  Andrew put his hands on Connor’s shoulders and pushed him flat. Without looking up, he nodded to the man.

  The man stepped back toward Connor’s feet, knelt down and grabbed his right foot. He quickly unwound the belt, dropped it to the floor and slowly peeled off the bloody shirt.

  Connor screamed between clenched teeth, and Andrew put all his weight on Connor’s shoulders.

  The blood soaked shirt made a wet slapping noise as it hit the floor.

  Connor’s neck was straining to keep his head up, and he watched the man choke-up on the poker. The glowing orange point was just below his hand.

  “Bite down!”

  Connor dropped his head, sunk his teeth into the leather belt and screamed in anticipation.

  The poker began to hiss and smoke.

  Connor’s whole body spasmed in pain. He screamed one last time, then his head rolled off to the side, and the leather belt fell to the floor.

  Without hesitation, the man moved the poker over the bleeding stump. It kept popping and hissing as the wound cauterized, filling the room with the smell of burning flesh.

  The man inspected the blackened stump with a look of satisfaction and tossed the poker back into the coals behind him. With sparks snapping and bounding up the chimney, he bent down and gently set Connor’s four-toed foot onto the floor.

  In a disturbingly casual tone, he said, “The name is Miller. Jacob Miller. I don’t suppose you remember me?” He offered Andrew his hand, Andrew took it, and with a sharp pull, he was standing.

  Andrew thought back over the years, and finally said, “I’m sorry Mr. Miller, but no, I don’t remember meeting you at all.”

  “That’s all right; you were pretty young when we met. I don’t suppose you were much older than five or six at the time.

  I went to pick the two of you up from the orphanage six months ago, but the headmaster said you’d been gone for more than a year. I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

  Mr. Miller took the belt from next to Connor’s head and put it back on.

  “Where have you two been?”

  “What do you mean, where have we been? We left that lousy orphanage years ago. We’ve been wandering from town to town looking for some old book Connor can’t get out of his head. Actually, we’ve both seen it in our dreams. But why do you care?”

  Nudging Connor’s left foot with his dirty boot, and pointing to the bottom of it, he asked, “Did anybody ever notice you both wear the crescent moon?”

  “What are you talking about? You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

  “The crescent moon, boy! Does anyone else know about them?!”

  “No! Nobody else knows about the matching crescent moons on the bottom of our left feet. Are you satisfied now? Can you tell me who you are? Can you tell me where we are? Can you tell me why you were looking for us after all these years?”

  “Clean yourself up out back. You can find the well easy enough, it’s back behind the barn. And clean up my horse. I’ll bring you some clean clothes, then I’m gonna need you to go into town and get some bandages, an ointment, and a couple of other things.”

  Andrew stared at the strange man giving orders.

  “Don’t just stand there with your mouth open. There’ll be time enough for your questions when you’re done. Now get movin’!”

  It was early evening by the time Andrew had cleaned and fed the old gray horse and gone into town to get the medicine and bandages for Connor’s foot. He had been downstairs in Mr. Miller’s house, sitting in the back room by the empty fireplace for about an hour, when he heard steps creaking.

  “I brought somebody to keep you company,” Mr. Miller said, turning the corner with Connor in his arms. Walking into the room, he sat Connor down on an old, leather chair across from Andrew.

  He took Connor’s feet and put them on the oversized footrest, gently placing his right foot on a wool pillow.

  Connor waved his hand at Andrew in a slow, tired sort of way, and slurred, “Heeeeyyyyy.” He had a crazy, almost drunken sort of smile on his face.

  With his eyes half closed, his feet propped up, and a white shirt on, Connor looked rather comfortable. His foot was heavily bandaged, and Andrew couldn’t tell if the bandages were yellow from the oozing stump or if the candlelight made them look odd. There wasn’t any blood on the bandages, but the outline of Connor’s foot told the story of the afternoon at the lake.

  Mr. Miller turned and walked out of the room as quickly as he had entered.

  In a slow and awkward way, like his tongue was too big for his mouth, Connor slurred, “He’s a really cheery guy, I like him a lot.” There was a long pause while Connor enjoyed his sarcasm. “Especially when he changes the bandage on my foot…Such a gentle, caring man…,” he trailed off with a smile and blinked unevenly.

  “How’s your foot?”

  Struggling to make an ‘m’ sound, Connor said, “Mmmmy left foot is perrrfect!” He lifted it off the footrest admiring it and the silly grin never left his face.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Drrrunnk?”

  Connor blew out between his lips, making a rude noise that ended with him trying to whistle a tune the boys had heard outside a pub last summer.

  “NnnoPe, defffinnnitely nnnot drrunnnkk.”

  “Well if my toe ever gets bitten off, I hope I feel as good about it as you do!”

  “Don’t pay too much attention to him,” Mr. Miller said, walking back into the room with a wooden serving tray in his hands. The room filled with the aroma of vegetable beef stew and fresh bread. He gave Andrew a mug of stew with a spoon sticking out of it and half a loaf of hot bread. Andrew thanked him, then watched him reluctantly hand Connor a piece of buttered bread.

  “Don’t drop it!” he ordered, taking a seat between the boys in an old ladder back rocker. Turning to Andrew, Mr. Miller said, “He’s not in any pain, but he’s not thinking straight either. He’s taking The Root, the medicine you got in town. It makes you dumber than a chicken, but at least he can’t feel any pain.”

  “I’mmm dummb as a chickennnnn. Cluck, cluck, cluck,” Connor slurred, tucking his thumbs into his armpits and flapping his arms; the stupid grin still never left his face.

  Mr. Miller grabbed himself a mug off the tray and cleared his throat. In a stern voice, he said, “What I’m about to tell you is not to be repeated. Not outside of this house, not ever, not to anybody. Am I clear?”

  Andrew looked at Connor, his eyes were still open a little, but he was obviously asleep. The bread was butter side down on his chest.

  “Yes sir, but what about Connor, can I tell him?”

  Mr. Miller looked over at Connor, then leaned over and took the bread off his white shirt.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have given that to him,” he mumbled to himself.

  Turning his chair toward Andrew, he said, “In a couple of days, when he’s off The Root you can tell him everything.”

  With his head down, looking into his mug of stew, he shook his head and let out a long sigh. Without looking up and in a voice full of regret, he said, “You were supposed to be at the orphanage. I was going to come and get you when you were both old enough, but when I got there, you were gon
e.”

  Andrew opened his mouth, then shut it. Opened it again, thought better of it, and closed it. Mr. Miller took a spoonful of stew and chewed. Swallowing loudly, he raised his head and began again.

  “Your father was a fine man and a good friend. From the looks of it, you may be an even tougher sort than he was. You both had the crescent moon on your feet when you were born. They signify the bloodline of the Kingdom. You two are all that’s left, at least as far as we could tell. You’re the only remaining heirs of the Fifteen.”

  Andrew’s eyes got wide, and he almost dropped his mug of stew.

  “Andrew, there is a book. Your dad found it in the Kingdom when we went there almost ten years ago. Connor’s father was with us too.

  It’s the book you’ve been looking for, I know it is. Hell, it’s probably been looking for you. After you see it, you’ll understand.” He paused, looking Andrew right in the eyes. “Your father died because of the book. It wasn’t his fault, but I hate the thing because of what happened to Georgey.”

  Andrew started to speak, but Mr. Miller held up his hand to quiet him. “Just listen right now. I’ve got to get this out, for me. When I’m done, I’ll answer every question I can.”

  Andrew nodded.

  “Like I said, we were in the Kingdom, the three of us and we had just crossed the river Cups the first time. That’s where the river is the widest, and the water moves so fast, it’s nearly impossible to cross.

  It had taken us the better part of a day to get there. We were tired, and it was late in the day when we made our crossing. I wish we had waited until the next day, but we were so anxious, we didn’t think to wait or wait to think. Just after your dad crossed, I made it over.”

  He paused, taking a bite of stew. “Your father,” he said, with his mouth still full, “turned to make sure I got across all right, but when he turned back around he slipped. I saw him take a side step to catch his balance, but he stumbled a couple more times until he fell on his backside. Then he really started sliding.

  I was just out of the freezing water, and all I could do was watch. I got myself over to the side of the path, just when he tried to catch hold of a little bush growing out of the rocks. He grabbed the base of it, but the thorns grabbed him back.” Mr. Miller winced, scrunching up his face. “When he pulled away, the sleeve of his shirt got caught on the thorns and his arm got twisted up behind him. After that, he just sort of disappeared over the edge. The only thing left was his shirtsleeve, ripped off at the shoulder, snagged around that horrible little bush. I heard him land, but it seemed like it took forever.”

  “Could you see him? Was he all right?”

  Mr. Miller shook his head. “No, I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him. He said he was all right. Come to find out he just didn’t want to tell us how bad off he was.” Mr. Miller’s voice quieted as his words trailed off.

  He took another bite of stew and swallowed, trying to choke down more than just the stew. He took a couple of deep breaths and began again, “After Connor’s dad made it across the Cups, we started trying to figure out how to rescue Georgey. Your dad was down in a pit, literally just a crack in the mountain. The side farthest from us was a sheer cliff face, and the only way down was the way your dad had gone. It was getting dark, and the temperature was dropping fast. All three of us were still wet from the river, but all we could think of was your poor dad down there with his arm hurtin’ him and it bein’ freezing cold all night.

  We tried tying off some rope onto a big boulder up the path and lowering it down to him, but it wouldn’t reach. The only thing we could do was get to the edge, so I wrapped it around my waist a couple of times and lowered myself down.

  It was already two shades to pitch black, but it looked like it was thirty or forty feet to the bottom. I couldn’t see him so I yelled down to see if he was really all right. He said his arm was twisted up pretty badly.

  I dropped his blankets down to him, along with some food and water. It was too dark to try anything creative.

  That night the wind picked up, and it was freezing. We looked around in the dark for something to start a fire with, but we couldn’t find a single stick or twig; not even a handful of dried grass. That night nobody got any sleep.

  As soon as we had first light, J.D. and I were trying to figure something out.”

  “Who’s J.D.?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s Connor’s dad. His name was Jacob too. Your dad never liked calling both of us Jacob. When he started calling Connor’s dad J.D. it just sort of stuck. After a while, everybody called him that.”

  “Oh, all right. So what happened the next morning?”

  “Well, like I was saying, as soon as the sun was up we were yelling down to your dad. He said he couldn’t feel his hand and his shoulder felt like it was on fire. He said he messed up his leg, too.

  I yelled back and told him we were gonna lower a rope. J.D. put a slipknot at the end of it, and I sat down on the top of the slope. I took the line and pitched it over the edge, but the damn thing wasn’t long enough, not by ten feet.

  J.D. and I tied both our blankets to the end of the lead, and we were ready to try again. But just when we threw the thing down your dad started yelling. He said he found something.

  That’s when he found the book and the shield.”

  “A shield?” Andrew asked excitedly. “What kind of shield?”

  With a look of mysticism in his twinkling eyes, Mr. Miller smiled and whispered, “It’s magical, Andrew. I’ll show it to you later.”

  “Wow!”

  “It’s hidden. It’s safe, and it’s not coming out of hiding until the three of us leave for the Kingdom. The shield is incredible. I don’t know how it survived the destruction, but you’ll get to see it in the book. You’ll get to see everything I’ve seen, Andrew, but I think I’m getting ahead of myself. Should I keep going?”

  Andrew nodded, and Mr. Miller started again. “I could feel the rope moving around as your dad put it around his chest. When he was ready, he sent up a couple of short tugs, and we started hauling him up. The rope was moving fine until the blanket hit the top of the cliff.

  Your dad called up and said he was going to kick off the face of the cliff to try and give us slack. That way we could pop the knot up and over the edge. He gave us a three count, and we felt the rope go tight. When it went slack, we pulled, and the knot popped over the edge.

  We could see the blanket rubbing against the lip of the rock. The rope had been tuff enough, but as your dad got closer to the top, the blankets started to rip. He yelled for us to stop pulling. He was close enough to reach the ledge, but he said he couldn’t do it. I asked J.D. if he could hold Georgey’s weight while I crawled down to take a look. J.D. was a big man, he said he could, and I let go of the rope.

  The cliff looked solid enough, but the rock just crumbled under my hands and busted apart when my knee hit it. All these little pebbles kept getting under me as I crawled down the cliff and I thought I was gonna slide into the pit at any second. I was also sending a shower of pebbles and rocks down on your dad, and I could hear him complaining.

  When the little pricker bush was next to me, I could see the thorns sticking out. They were wicked things, curving downward like razor-sharp sickles and your dad’s sleeve was still hanging there.

  The only way I could anchor myself was by hooking my foot onto it. By the time I had my head and shoulders over the edge, the thorns started poking through the top of my shoe.

  I smiled at your dad, and said, “Hi.”

  He told me to grab the shield he had tucked between the blanket and his back. The sunlight was bouncing off it in ways that didn’t seem possible. Every color came off the sides, and it looked like little rainbows were dancing around the edges.

  I asked him if it was heavy and he smiled and said it was light as a feather. I reached down
with one hand and tugged at it until it came loose. Your dad started swinging back and forth when I pulled it out, and the blanket started ripping again.

  I threw the shield over my shoulder, up the cliff face just hoping it wouldn’t slide back down. Then I reached out to take your dad’s hand, but he didn’t reach for me. I looked at his twisted arm for the first time and saw his swollen, purple hand.

  Your dad shoved the book in my face and told me to take it. I told him to drop the damn thing and give me his hand, but he wouldn’t do it. Finally, I took the book with both hands just before the blanket under my chest ripped for the last time.

  Your dad and I looked at each other as he started falling away.”

  Mr. Miller’s voice broke, and tears ran down his face. “All he said was, “Tell Andrew…,” then he was gone.”

  Tears were running down Andrew’s face too.

  “That’s enough for now. I think you already know neither of your fathers made it back. I’m still not sure how I survived, but you can see the price I paid.”

  Mr. Miller pulled up the loose sleeves of his shirt past his elbows and Andrew saw the terrible scars. It looked like hundreds of barbed fish hooks had been pushed into his skin and ruthlessly pulled out against the barb. Andrew twisted up his face, and Mr. Miller lowered his sleeves.

  Andrew wiped away the tears and Mr. Miller stood up, set his mug on the table next to Andrew and went into the other room. When he came back, he was holding the largest book Andrew had ever seen.

  He sat down again in the chair next to Andrew, and asked, “What do you know about the Kingdom, Andrew? How much do you really understand?”

  “I only know a few stories. Mostly I’ve heard that the people who go there usually don’t come back, and those who do,” he said, looking at Mr. Miller’s arms, “Well, they never seem the same as when they left.”

  “Is it worth the risk?” Mr. Miller asked.

  Andrew thought back to the countless debates he and Connor had about the Kingdom. Neither of them knew much about the test that made the Kingdom famous; all they knew was that most people who went there didn’t come back. The stories they made up about what the test was and what a man had to do to survive it were pure fantasy. Regardless of their ignorance, they both agreed on one thing: trying to become the ruler of a broken down mountainside by challenging a power that killed everyone who’d stepped before it for the past two thousand years, was probably the dumbest idea ever.

  “No, I don’t think it’s worth it. It can’t be.”

  “Then why do men go?”

  “I guess I don’t really know. It doesn’t seem like a very smart thing to do.”

  “Kind of hot this summer, isn’t it?” Mr. Miller asked.

  “Yeah, the field of grass by the lake looked like it was dried up and brown by early summer.”

  “Yep, remember last summer?” He asked again.

  “Yeah, it was pretty hot too.”

  “Is it a heat wave?”

  “I guess so.”

  Mr. Miller gave Andrew a skeptical look and a wry grin, then he let out a long sigh.

  Andrew started to feel like they weren’t just talking about the weather.

  “Do you know where the Kingdom is?”

  “Yes sir, it’s in the middle of a giant desert in a valley somewhere really far to the north.”

  “Good. The Valley of the Crescent Moon, up along the Spire Mountains, which is now the center of the biggest desert we know of, and here’s a little secret. The desert is getting bigger every year.”

  “What you mean?”

  “What lives in the desert?”

  “Nothing really, I guess. Just the cactus and the lizards.”

  “That’s right, not much lives in the desert. What do you suppose will happen if everything becomes a desert?”

  “That can’t really happen. It’s just been a few hot summers.”

  “Andrew, what do you suppose will happen when everything becomes a desert?”

  “I guess everything will die, but that’s not even possible. What are you talking about?”

  “It’s already happening. The fleets are bringing back fewer and fewer fish in their nets. Entire flocks and herds are wasting away in the heat. The crops burn up before they ever produce a harvest; winter is short, summers are longer than they’re supposed to be. Don’t you see, it’s already happening?”

  “What does that have to do with The Kingdom?”

  Mr. Miller glanced down shaking his head. He mumbled, “There is so much you don’t know,” then he looked back up at Andrew, and said, “Forget about the weather, it doesn’t matter right now. What’s important is this book, if you want to call it that. It’s the only one of its kind. If anyone finds out we have it, things will change for us, and it won’t be good.”

  “Why? I don’t underst…,” Andrew trailed off again because of the look in Mr. Miller’s eyes. Andrew was so excited by what was in front of him and so confused by the conversation they were having, he could hardly control himself.

  “This is the book from my dream!”

  “It’s also a trap.”

  “A what?”

  “A trap,” said Mr. Miller with excitement in his voice.

  “It’s just a book, right?”

  “Does it look like ‘just a book’?”

  “Well, sort of, but not like any book I’ve ever seen. Those letters are, are, well, look at them. I don’t know what they are.”

  Mr. Miller ran his hand over the cover of the book, and said, “It’s more than two thousand years old.”

  Andrew’s mouth fell open, and all he could do was stare, first at the book, then at Mr. Miller, and finally back to the book.

  “How did you...I mean, where did you...I mean, Wow!”

  “Andrew. Andrew!”

  “What? Oh, sorry it’s just that I never…,” he trailed off again because Mr. Miller had that ‘stop talking and listen’ look in his eyes.

  He told Andrew to sit back in the chair. “This is the book your dad pushed in my face,” he said, gently setting the book on Andrew’s lap. “The one he wouldn’t drop to save his own life. Don’t open it, but you can touch the outside if you like.”

  The book was at least six inches thick and twenty-four inches square, but it didn’t weigh anything. Andrew’s finger traced the outline of the boldly, stroked letters written on the cover. Each one outlined by thin ribbons of gold which delicately came together. Each strand ended by curling out and around the others. When Andrew looked more closely, he could see the letters were filled with something that shimmered; it almost looked like deep water or the dark blue of the sky just before a storm.

  He moved his hand over the seamless letters and around the cover. It was perfectly smooth, but the letters were strangely soft and slightly cooler than the rest of the book. The corners and spine looked like pure gold, and his fingers just slid over them as if they weren’t there.

  “Funny thing about that book,” said Mr. Miller. “The longer you’re around it, the more you want to hold it. The longer you hold it, the more you want to open it, and as soon as you open it, you’re trapped. You won’t be able to move or speak; not a twitch, not a word. Not until somebody closes it for you. You can still breathe and hear, but that’s about it. It’s a dangerous thing too because more than one person can be trapped at the same time. If I went to close the book for you when you were trapped, and I looked into the page, then I’m stuck too.

  It’s only dangerous if you’re alone, without someone to guide you or to take you out of it. That’s the trap, see? If you just opened this here book and tried to read it and nobody came by for a few days, you might die of thirst or hunger. If you’re fool enough to open it outside, then the elements or some wild animal might take you, and there would be nothing you could do about it. That’s wh
y you’ve got to be with somebody who knows what to do.”

  “Guide me where? Honestly, Mr. Miller, I don’t know what you’re talking about. First, we’re talking about the weather now you’re telling me I’m gonna get trapped inside this book.”

  “It’s not just a book. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s part of the original magic of the Kingdom.” Mr. Miller reached out and slid his hand over the cover. “These metal pieces, this fabric on the cover, it’s all more than two thousand years old.”

  “My father died to get this?”

  “Yes, he did. He could have dropped it and given me his good hand. I don’t know if I could have pulled him up, but your dad didn’t know that either. Instead, he shoved it in my face, and I didn’t have a choice. I would throw the thing away if it would bring him back.”

  “Me too,” Andrew agreed.