OTHERLANDER: A Long Way From Home

by T. Kevin Bryan

  “Deacon!”

  Deacon and Thomas exchanged glances. “Oh no,” Deacon muttered under his breath.

  Thorn trumpeted. Deacon gave Thorn a loving slap.

  “Yeah, maybe she’s not so bad.”

  Deacon dismounted. “Then again, she doesn’t feed me venison and honey.”

  Thorn stared at his master; the beast gave a growl like distant thunder.

  Ellie reached the dragon and his two riders.

  “Hello, Deacon.”

  Deacon continued, unlashing Thorn’s saddle.

  “Hello, Ellie. And Ellie,” Deacon nodded at the boy, “this is Thomas.”

  Ellie and Thomas considered each other. Thomas was not sure whether to shake hands or bow. So he just gave the attractive redhead a goofy grin.

  Ellie gave an almost-curtsy to Thomas; to him, it seemed both strong and feminine.

  Then, turning back to Deacon, Ellie asked with bright eyes: “Can I help ya, Deacon?”

  His back to Ellie because he was still releasing the saddle, Deacon grinned at Thomas before he said: “Well now, lass, you might just can.” She stepped forward to hear more.

  And at just that moment, Deacon jerked the saddle off Thorn’s back, spun around, and maneuvered so he could plop the big saddle right into Ellie’s arms. “You can clean and polish that,” Deacon said. “Can’t ya, little girl?”

  She wobbled under the weight but made no sound. Thomas noticed, though, that her blazing eyes communicated plenty.

  Pleased with himself, Deacon patted her on the head and walked away. He called back over his shoulder: “Thanks, Ellie! Thomas, you coming or not?”

  “Nice to meet you,” Thomas shouted backwards as he ran to catch up.

  Ellie stood, grimacing under the weight of the saddle. Her eyes shooting darts into Deacon’s back. Then, with an “oof!” she slowly collapsed into a cloud of leather and dust.

  Thomas stole another glance back at Ellie, as she now struggled to stand back up with Deacon’s rig.

  “She’s pretty...”

  Deacon ignored the boy’s comment, continued marching toward the cliff dwellings along the canyon wall. From those dwellings, Loren and John came out to meet them.

  “... In a tough sort of way.” Thomas looked at Deacon, who gave no evidence he even knew the boy existed.

  “And that hair—”

  “Mind your own business,” Deacon said flatly.

  “Oooo... you like her!” Thomas thought of one of his friends back in America. That kid had a crush on a girl in their class, and everyone in the school knew the boy liked the girl. But the kid would have resisted to the death before he would ever admit it.

  Funny, thought Thomas, as he looked up at the hardened warrior walking beside him. That kid was in seventh grade, this guy’s ancient like, thirty-something. I guess guys don’t really change much over time.

  They reached Loren and John. There were embraces, with a lot of manly backslapping.

  “Still pestering my baby sister?” John said with a wry grin.

  “She likes it.”

  John cocked an eyebrow and smiled.

  “I know she’s no, Emma, but… You know it’s been almost 5 years.”

  “Hey, don’t you start too,” Deacon responded.

  John knew when to back off. He turned to Thomas: “You look a lot better’n the last time I saw you.”

  The last time? The last time I was running for my life from giant dark shadow monsters in my singed pajamas, thought Thomas. A shiver ran through him as he remembered the horror of that night.

  Thomas smiled at the big man.

  “Thomas,” said Deacon, “this is John and Loren.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Thomas.” Loren bowed formally, then shook Thomas’s hand. “Quite a grip you’ve got there, son,” Loren said. Then he noticed the leather riding jacket that Thomas wore. That made him pause. “And that is a fine looking riding jacket.” Loren rested both hands on the boy’s shoulders. Momentarily lost in thought.

  “Yeah, Deacon let me wear it.” Thomas responded.

  “He did, did he?” Loren glanced at Deacon, who shrugged.

  Loren finally released Thomas, and to Deacon said, “After that long ride, I’d wager some ale is in order, eh?”

  Deacon slapped him on the back. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

  Chapter 35

  Loren poured ale into earthen mugs. He even splashed a little into Thomas’s cup, then diluted it with water. Deacon sat with his boots propped on a low table. Thomas found a chair and sat holding his mug in both hands. As the men drank, the mood grew somber.

  “John told me about Simon,” said Loren. “A mighty rider he was, and a true friend... a great loss.”

  Deacon nodded and raised his mug solemnly. The others did the same.

  “To Simon.”

  “To Simon!” the others responded, then each grew quiet reflecting on their friend.

  Finally, Deacon broke the silence.

  “Loren,” said Deacon, “Thomas has quite a story to tell.”

  Loren took a gulp of his ale, all the while gazing at Thomas. “Does he now?”

  Thomas followed suit and sipped his ale. His eyes bulged as the elixir burned down the back of his throat. He swallowed and replied hoarsely: “I’m not… from around here.”

  Chapter 36

  Thorn’s saddle was thrown in a heap on the stable’s stone floor. The floor was worn smooth from years of use by dragons and their riders.

  Considering the pile of dusty saddle leather, Ellie wiped the sweat off her forehead and contemplated the hours of cleaning and polishing ahead of her.

  She decided the saddle could wait. Instead, she grabbed a sizable coarse-haired brush and turned to Thorn, who was contentedly eating from a trough.

  “Doesn’t he ever give you a bath?” she said as she began brushing the great dragon’s golden hide.

  Thorn rumbled in response.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Ellie brushed with more vigor.

  “Who does he think I am? His stable girl? Well, I’ve got news for him...”

  The more she thought about it, the angrier she got.

  “I’m sick to death of his condescending attitude,” she said, now brushing Thorn’s hide furiously. “And I won’t stand for it anymore! Not one moment more!”

  Annoyed at this maltreatment, Thorn turned his head and huffed his nostrils at Ellie.

  “Oh, sorry, Thorn! I know it’s not your fault.” Self-consciously, she lightened her brushing touch.

  “That better?”

  Thorn groaned and jerked his head to guide her brushing upward.

  “Oh. Behind your shoulder?”

  Ellie moved her brushing. And the big dragon closed his eyes with a moan-growl of contentment.

  “A little to the left?”

  Thorn’s hind leg began to paw the air like a big reptile dog. Ellie laughed and gently scratched the big dragon’s chin.

  “Thanks for listening.”

  Chapter 37

  Thomas placed his mug on the low table. He had spent the last hour telling the men how he had followed his father through the Mairead Fhada portal. Loren had sat quite still the whole time, listening with his fingers steepled and his eyes half-closed.

  At points in the story, Thomas wondered if the old man was asleep. But then he would prompt Thomas with a quiet, “Continue.”

  Loren and John sat across from the boy; Deacon stood leaning against the timber mantel over the stone fireplace.

  “Then John and Deacon rescued me from the shadow warriors,” Thomas finished, then said, “Oh, Deacon, tell them about the shadow warriors in town.”

  “They,” responded Deacon, “have heard more than enough of my stories.” Then Deacon turned to Loren. “What do you think of it all?”

  Loren didn’t respond; he just leveled his gaze on Thomas and sat silent, for what seemed to Thomas like an eternity. He shifted his feet uncomfortably, feeling
like he was back in the headmaster’s office.

  “Quite a story, eh?” said John, breaking the silence.

  Thomas broke with Loren’s gaze and stared at the floor. “You don’t believe me,” he said with a sigh.

  “Oh, we believe you,” the old man reassured.

  “You do?”

  “You see, your father was not the first person through that door.”

  As Thomas’s brow furrowed with curiosity, Loren retrieved his cane, and with a groan, got up from his chair. “Let me show you something.” Loren made his way to a rustic shelf overstuffed with ancient books and scrolls. He searched and eventually found what he was looking for. He pulled out a large, worn, leather book, then brought it and clearing a spot of parchment papers, quills, and ink containers set it on the table between them.

  Loren opened the book, sending a cloud of dust into the air. The Elder mumbled as he read, tracking the page with his finger, searching for a specific passage. “Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat and read aloud:

  “When the veil is thin

  and the warrior is armed

  walk the path of the Creator.

  But be warned.

  Destruction awaits he

  who steps to the right or left.”

  Loren continued, “And in that time, those of our world and Otherland may cross the threshold and set foot on the other side. And on the thirty-first turn, the door shall be closed. Take heed, lest the traveler be caught unaware.”

  Deacon and John sat quietly.

  Thomas looked back and forth between them, bewildered.

  “So, what does it mean?”

  “The portal you call Mairead Fhada can only be opened during a specific season when the stars are aligned precisely, and the traveler walks the path of the Creator. Otherlanders like you and your father have stumbled into our land. In the same way, some of our people have passed through and never returned. Still, others tried to pass and were destroyed.”

  Deacon looked at Thomas. “You were lucky,” he said, leaning forward.

  “No,”corrected Loren, “You were blessed. The ancients put the marking stones at the threshold to warn us: ‘Beware, there is danger here.’”

  Thomas stood and peered at the words in the book. He couldn’t make out the ancient ruins, but he pointed to the verse. “Can you reread this part, Please sir.”

  Loren considered the boy. Then read:

  “When the veil is thin

  and the warrior is armed

  walk the path of the Creator.

  But be warned.

  Destruction awaits he

  who steps to the right or left.”

  “I know what the path of the creator is,” Thomas said quietly.

  “Go on.” The old man encouraged.

  Thomas took one of the sheets of parchment and a quill. He thought for a moment, then dipped the feather in the inkpot and drew a circle. He inked the quill again and drew three matching intertwined leaves: The Trinitarian Celtic Circle.

  Thomas dropped the quill back in the inkpot and straightened up.

  Loren stared at the drawing. “This is the symbol of the Creator. Where did you see this?”

  “Wait,” Thomas reached into the front pocket of his britches. “I forgot I still had this!”

  He pulled out a charred folded fragment of paper. He unfolded it and laid it on the table, smoothing out the wrinkles as best he could.

  “This is how I came here.”

  Loren stood and picked up the charred fragment. “Yes’” he said, looking at Deacon and John. “And that must be how the others came here as well.”

  “Others?” Thomas asked.

  Loren handed the fragment back to Thomas and picked up the ancient book and slid it back in its place as he continued:

  “There was another who came through the door many decades ago, and he brought great darkness with him. Darcon. He allied himself with the Shadow World and with their help, spread his rule over our once peaceful kingdom. His is a deep seated lust for power. Enough is never enough. He must be resisted at every point.”

  “But what about my father?” Thomas pleaded.

  Deacon looked at his young friend with compassion. “Thomas, we anticipated someone coming through the door. We were going to be waiting and ready to meet the traveler. But our efforts were to no avail. Our scouts guarding the door were ambushed, killed—all but one. He passed later, but not before telling us what he saw.”

  “My father?”

  “A stranger came through the door... and yes, it could have been your father.”

  Thomas stood. “Then where is he?” he asked in despair.

  Deacon and John looked at each other, both weighing how to tell the boy the news.

  Deacon nodded, and John leaned forward, “With Darcon.”

  Loren looked down at Thomas. “If it is your father, and if he knows the secret to the door, he is in great danger.”

  Chapter 38

  Daniel Colson surveyed the stacks of scrolls and parchments before him with a sense of growing dread. He stood and scratched his beard. I miss my razor, he thought morosely. Daniel moved toward the small window set high in his prison wall. There was no glass. It seemed it had not been invented in this world yet. Also, the window was just a two-foot square opening in the thick stone wall, no bars. That was what the iron shackle was for.

  Daniel took seven steps until the chain locked to his ankle went taut. The sunlight streamed through, lighting Daniel’s dim cell. He peered longingly toward the bright window and lifted his hand into the sun’s rays. His fingers could just barely reach into the light and feel the warmth.

  He pulled futilely on his fetter, trying to get closer. It was useless. The chain was secured to an iron ring in the stone floor with a large padlock, and no attempt at dislodging it had even made it budge. Still, he had to try. Not to pull against his chain would mean to give up. Giving up would mean he would never go home. Never see his beautiful Caroline or his boy, Thomas. He gave the chain one last pull, straining with all his might. He tugged until he thought his heart would explode then dropped to the floor, panting. He lay there staring up at the ceiling as a strange spider-like creature crawled along it defying gravity.

  How long had he been here? How long since his vain attempt to stop Albright? It was twenty-one days since he left his home and family and came through Mairead Fhada, the stone circle that acted as a door to this strange world. “The Universe Next Door.” Wasn’t that the title of a book he read in college? First, he had solved the problem of the stone circle. It wasn’t an archaic temple or an observatory but an astronomical gateway to another planet. Once he understood that, then, it was the matter of unlocking the door. That came in the form of an ancient combination based upon the Trinitarian Celtic circle.

  He remembered the night that he had cracked the code. He was in his study rooms at Edinburgh, it was in the evening when it had finally come to him. The symbol could be overlaid on a satellite photo of the stone circle, Mairead Fhada. Each corner of the 3 leaves of the trinitarian knot pointed to 3 of the 69 stones that made up the 350-foot circle. Then he rotated it so that the leaf known as Spirit pointed to the most massive stone in the circle. The 12-foot tall monolith the Scottish called “Long Meg.”

  Now he knew “where” he just had to figure out the “when.” And he knew exactly where to look.

  He had run across the campus like a mad man to the research library. He quickly greeted the old night watchmen.

  “Workin’ late again, I see, Professor.”

  “Yes, Tisdale, again.” He responded as he scratched his name on the sign-in log.

  Tisdale helpfully passed Daniel a pair of white cotton gloves for handling the artifacts. Slipping them on, he rushed up and down the ancient collections until he found what he was searching for. An ancient Celtic illuminated manuscript dated in the 900’s AD. He placed it on a table and carefully turned through the pages. He stopped. A crude map of the stone circle “Long Meg
and her Daughters” and above it the stars represented in gold in the shape of the consolation Orion.

  Daniel pulled out his small, well-worn leather notebook. He preferred to do things the old school way. Paper and a fountain pen.

  He thumbed through pages of scribbled notes. Finding a blank page, he quickly sketched a diagram of the stone circle and the constellation of stars found in the ancient book.

  Then, Daniel snapped a picture with his phone and ran back to his office to find his 28-year-old doctoral assistant, Albright pouring over his notes.

  “I’ve done it, Albright!” He remembered shouting in his excitement and sat at his computer and proceeded to print the photo from his office printer. Then he accessed an astronomical charts website. Albright stooped over him as Daniel blathered on in his excitement. “All the years of continuous research. The late nights and early mornings, all the hours spent in dusty libraries and in the fields digging in the cold mud of rural Britain. It’s finally paying off.”

  Albright straightened his tall frame and pushed his blond locks out of his eyes. “I guess congratulations are in order Professor.” Albright had said heartily.

  But now Daniel remembered a strange look in his assistants’ eyes and how his smile seemed cold.

  “It’s a door, Albright. A gate. A portal! And according to my calculations it is open…” he had swiveled the computer screen to Albright emblazoned with the constellation Orion and the month October. “This month.”

  “Amazing,” Albright whispered. “Dr. Colson, how does, are you sure, could it…?”

  “Not now, Albright, we have plenty of time to write this all up and present my paper at the Archeologist society in two months. “I’ve done it. I’ve really done it!

  Daniel remembered how Albright tried to have his questions answered, but Daniel had cut him off.