Light in the Barren Lands: Travail of The Dark Mage Book One

by Pratt, Brian S.

  Butterflies were at war in his stomach as he walked the remaining distance to the door. On the wall glowed the orange, circular button of the doorbell. Moving a finger forward, he pressed it.

  The familiar chime of the doorbell echoed throughout the house. He waited a minute and when there was no sign of anyone stirring, he pressed it again. Before the last echo of the doorbell died, light appeared in a window far to his right. It was to his grandparents’ bedroom.

  Then came the unmistakable creaking of someone making his way through the house toward the front door. James stepped to the right and peered through the large picture window into the living room. A shadow emerged from the hallway and approached. Instead of coming to the door, it came to the window.

  He saw the shadow work the lock and slide the window aside. “Yes?” a voice asked.

  “Grandpa?” asked James.

  “Grandpa?” the voice said. “I think you have the wrong house son.”

  “Are you John Reese?”

  “No,” the man replied. “John Reese was the man I bought this house from four years ago.”

  That was not the news James expected.

  “Was he your grandfather?”

  “Yes he was,” James replied. “I’ve been away for awhile. You wouldn’t know where he lives now would you?”

  “I think he said something about moving back east to live with a sister.”

  “That would be my great-aunt Beatrice,” explained James.

  “I’m sorry he wasn’t here son,” the man said. “Maybe you should give your great-aunt a call.”

  James nodded. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing,” the man said. “Good night to you. Or maybe I should say good morning.”

  “You too,” James said. Then while the new occupant of his grandparents’ house slid the window closed, he turned and headed back down the walkway.

  “They’ve moved,” he said sadly as he came to join Jiron beneath the willow. Despite his earlier nervousness, he really wanted to see his grandparents. If they had moved in with great aunt Beatrice, they were somewhere in Missouri, at least that’s where he thought she lived.

  “Now what?” Jiron asked.

  To the east, the sky was beginning to lighten with the coming of dawn. “It’s a given we can’t stay here for long.” A glance back to the house revealed the man was watching them from the living room window. “Come on,” James said.

  The houses lining the street each held someone he knew. But he wondered how much they would be willing to help given the present circumstances. James well remembered Dave’s experience after he had disappeared. His friend’s life had turned upside down with accusations that Dave was somehow involved with his and the others’ disappearances. Would he fare any better? If he came forward and told his story, most likely he’d be locked up in a nuthouse.

  Years of having kept to himself now left him with no friends to whom he could turn. The only friendship of any consequence had been Dave, and with him gone, there was no one. Walking along the street, he tried to think of someone, anyone, who might help. With the night quickly turning into day, he didn’t have a whole lot of time to deliberate. He knew the police would be looking for them. Once the security guard awoke and they played back the security tapes… If only they had been able to get out of that building unnoticed.

  Then it hit him. “Mr. Young!”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Young,” repeated James. “He was a teacher of mine.”

  “Do you think he would help?”

  “Aside from my grandparents, he was the one I trusted the most,” asserted James.

  “Good enough for me. Does he live nearby?”

  “Not too far away,” replied James. “An hour by foot.”

  “Then let’s hurry before your ‘cops’ find us.”

  By the time they reached Mr. Young’s house, the sun was peeking over the horizon. Dew lay heavily upon the grass and bushes. A chill was in the air that the rising sun worked to alleviate.

  Pointing to a two-storied house sitting behind a lawn of flawless green, James said, “That’s it. If it’s a weekday he may be getting ready to go to work.”

  Jiron frowned at the unfamiliar word, weekday, but kept quiet. He and Jira remained out by the curb while James went to the door.

  The house was dark and quiet as he approached. It was a bit early in the morning, perhaps too early for Mr. Young to be up and about already. A siren off in the distance broke the silence. For a heart stopping moment, James thought they might be coming for him. But then the siren moved off and he relaxed.

  “Easy now,” he told himself. “Being jumpy is not going to help the situation.” Even if they had already looked at the surveillance tape from the office building, there was scant chance of the authorities discovering who the intruders had been. And surely the likelihood of cops showing up here at Mr. Young’s house was remote in the extreme.

  Crossing the last few feet to the door, he remembered the many times he had come there to help Mr. Young with one thing or another on the weekends; setting up for the car wash to raise money for the senior trip, lending a hand when his oldest girl had moved out for college, and once for a barbeque that he and a few friends had been invited to.

  His next two oldest children should be out of the house by now with only little Bobby still at home. Having been in the fourth grade when all this began six years ago, he’d be a junior in high school now. His wife Tonda was nice. James remembered how he had loved listening to her southern accent.

  With butterflies again fluttering about his middle, he came to the door and pressed the doorbell. The ringing melody echoed throughout the house. A moment later a light appeared in the second floor window above his head. It was soon followed by the sound of a window sliding open.

  Silhouetted by the light from within, Mr. Young appeared and looked down at the person standing before his front door. “Who’s there?” he asked.

  Taking a step back so he could be better seen by his one-time teacher, James gazed up and said, “James.”

  “James who?”

  “James Reese. I’m surprised you don’t remember me.”

  There was silence for a moment before Mr. Young answered. “James? It cannot be.”

  “It’s me,” James stated. “I’ve…been away.”

  “But…” he began, then said, “I’ll be right down.”

  After the window slid closed, James heard the faint sound of footsteps moving through the house. When the light in the front room came on, he glanced to Jiron and gave him a thumbs up, but then quickly motioned for him and Jira to remain where they were for the time being.

  When the door opened and he saw Mr. Young before him, he said, “Hi.”

  “James,” he said with no little amount of emotion. “We thought you were dead.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he replied.

  “Where have you been?”

  A small grin came to him as he said, “That could take some time to explain.”

  Opening the door wider, Mr. Young said, “Come in, please.”

  “I have a friend and his daughter with me…,” he began and then directed Mr. Young’s attention to where they waited on the sidewalk.

  “A friend?” he asked.

  “A good friend,” he replied. “Can, I mean, may he come in?” Surprised at how the old reflexes returned quickly, he quickly corrected his grammar.

  Mr. Young gave him a smile. He had caught James’ correction too. “By all means,” he answered. “Any friend of yours is welcomed.”

  “Thank you sir,” James said. Turning back to Jiron, he waved them to join him. Returning his gaze to his former teacher, he said, “They don’t speak English.”

  Raising a questioning eyebrow, Mr. Young remained silent.

  “This is Jiron,” he said when his friend came closer. “And his daughter, Jira.”

  “Welcome,” Mr. Young said as he motioned for them to enter his home.


  “Mrs. Young won’t mind us calling on you so early in the morning will she?”

  “She isn’t home. She and Bobby went to visit her mother for the weekend.”

  “Ah,” said James.

  Entering the house brought back a flood of memories. Not just of times spent here, but life on Earth in general. From the rug covering the floor, the cut of the furniture, even the television which he had perhaps missed most of all. All the familiar trappings of an earlier life produced a welling of emotion. Then his eyes spied something that stopped him in his tracks.

  Pointing to a white oblong box sitting on the coffee table that displayed an elderly lady’s portrait in an oval frame, he asked with a mouth working overtime on the production of saliva, “Is that…See’s?”

  “Hmmm?” asked Mr. Young. Closing the door, he turned and saw the two pound box of See’s candy sitting on the table. “Oh yes,” he replied. “Tonda bought that before she left.”

  See’s candy; the epitome of all that is chocolaty and good. Similar boxes had been a staple treat during Christmas and on his grandfather’s birthday for as long as James could remember.

  “Would you like one?” Mr. Young asked.

  “Oh my, yes,” James replied. Moving to sit on the couch, he signaled for Jiron to sit next to him. Jira was still fast asleep on her father’s shoulder.

  “We could lay her on one of the kid’s beds if you like,” offered Mr. Young.

  Never taking his eyes from the box before him, he shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”

  Reverently, almost as if he was removing the top of a sepulcher which held some holy relic, he took hold of the lid and lifted. Immediately, the chocolate aroma of the confections contained within burst forth and caused his stomach to cramp.

  It was See’s standard variety box. Only two of the pieces were missing, having already been consumed at some point earlier. He was quick to zero in on one piece in particular, the chocolate truffle, his favorite of all things chocolate.

  Taking it from the paper cup in which it was nestled, he brought it to his mouth and took a bite. “Oh man,” he moaned as the warmth of his mouth began to melt the chocolate. Too long had he and chocolate been separated.

  After putting the rest in his mouth, he selected another of the chocolate truffles for Jiron to try. Holding it out to his friend, he said, “This is chocolate.”

  “The stuff you are always raving about?”

  James nodded. “Try it.”

  Jiron took the truffle. First sniffing it curiously, he then popped it into his mouth. Immediately his face lit up and he grinned. “It might be the hunger talking, but this is good.”

  Turning back to their host, he asked, “Can, uh, may we have another?”

  Mr. Young nodded. “Eat what you want.” Patting his middle, he said, “I’m getting a bit on the pudgy side.”

  Chuckling, James shook his head. Mr. Young had always been rail thin and nothing had seemed to change that fact in the six years of his absence. Snatching up all three of the crunchy toffee bars, James sat back on the couch.

  “So…how have you been?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” replied Mr. Young. “Now, tell me where you have been. Six years ago, you and half a dozen others up and disappear without any word. And despite the best efforts of the police, family, and friends, none were ever found. No clue, no suspects, nothing. Until now.” He gazed at James with intent interest while waiting for his reply.

  “Where to begin?” he mused, then glanced to his former teacher.

  “Perhaps it would be best to start at the beginning.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Taking another of the chocolates, he gathered his thoughts before beginning. “It all started when my grandfather tore an ad from the paper and placed it in my lunch sack…”

  For the next half hour, Mr. Young listened to James’ narrative. And by no means did he include every aspect of his life during the previous six years. He told of arriving for the interview and passing through the door which led to another world, of his meeting with Igor, and that he could do magic. He didn’t go into too much detail after that, glossing over much of it. He did mention the fact that Seth was deceased, as was his best friend Dave. When he reached the point where he and Meliana married and the birth of their son Kenny, homesickness and a longing for his loved ones came over him.

  “An accident of magic sent me back here to the exact point where I left this world,” he summarized. “And I am not sure how we will return to our families.” Sighing, he sat back and waited for Mr. Young’s response.

  His former teacher had remained silent throughout the narrative, a constant look of doubt and skepticism playing across his face. “I have never known you to lie before,” he began. “But this is too fantastical to believe.”

  “I know,” agreed James. “Had I not lived through it myself I would say it was a pack of lies.” He paused a moment then said, “I really don’t expect you to believe me.”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that,” he replied. “It’s just…”

  Chuckling, James nodded. “I know.”

  On the couch next to him, Jiron had fallen asleep still holding Jira. “We’ve been on the go since yesterday,” he said before a yawn escaped him.

  Mr. Young’s gaze roved over him, Jiron and Jira. “I take it you need a place to stay?” he asked.

  James nodded. “At least until we’ve rested. Once my head’s clear, maybe I can figure something out. We wouldn’t have bothered you if there was anywhere else to go.”

  “You can rest in Cynthia’s room,” he told him. “It has two beds and isn’t being used now that she’s gone off to college.”

  “Thank you.”

  After waking Jiron with a gentle shake on the shoulder, they followed Mr. Young upstairs to Cynthia’s old room. A bit frilly for his taste with posters of various young men placed strategically around the room, but at least there was a pair of full sized beds. He took one while Jiron and his daughter took the other.

  Before Mr. Young returned downstairs, James said, “Thank you again.”

  “My pleasure,” replied their host. “Maybe when you awaken we’ll be able to figure this out.”

  “I hope so.” Then, just as Mr. Young turned to go, he added, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention to anyone that we were here.”

  “Oh?” Mr. Young questioned. “Why?”

  “Things are complicated enough as it is,” he replied.

  Mr. Young nodded. “I can understand that. Get some sleep and we’ll talk later.” Then shutting the door, he left them to rest.

  “Nice man,” Jiron commented as he pulled back the pink and white bedspread.

  “Yes he is,” agreed James. Pulling back his own, he then sat on a mattress far superior to anything he’d encountered in many a year.

  Jira awoke momentarily when her father removed her knives from around her middle and took off her boots. But then she quickly snuggled beneath the covers and was fast asleep again in no time.

  Glad to be rid of his own knives, Jiron laid them on the nightstand and then rubbed his back. It had been awkward sitting on the couch for such a length of time with them jabbing him as they had, but he wasn’t about to give James’ friend any cause for alarm so had left them hidden.

  “Any ideas on how to get us home?” asked Jiron. Lying atop the covers next to his daughter, his gaze roved the room. Surrounded by so many strange, unfamiliar things, he finally understood how it must have been for James when he first left his world. At least he and Jira had someone trusted with them. James had been all alone.

  “Not yet,” replied James. “Maybe after a good sleep I’ll come up with something.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Divesting himself of trousers and boots, James crawled beneath the covers. Oh how he had missed such things. But he would gladly trade it all for the chance to hold his wife and son once more. Visions of them both ran through his mind until sleep finally took him.
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  Someone bumping into his bed caused him to start awake.

  “Sorry,” whispered Jiron.

  Through bleary eyes he saw Jiron with a lava lamp in one hand and a CD player in the other. “Your world is quite…interesting,” he said.

  “What time is it?”

  “Middle of the afternoon,” Jiron replied without glancing toward the window. Placing the items on the dresser, he crossed over and checked on Jira who was still fast asleep. Then to James he said, “We have to find a way to get her home.”

  “Get us all home you mean.” Giving out with one more stretch, he threw the covers off and sat up on the edge of the bed. The clock on the nightstand said 4:17. Feeling rested, but certain that he could have slept another few hours, he instead pulled on his trousers and boots.

  “I’m going downstairs,” he announced. “See what’s going on.”

  Jiron nodded. “I’ll stay here until Jira wakes.”

  “Good idea.” With the last boot laced, he left the room and headed down to the living room. Mr. Young was seated on the couch, watching television. The volume was turned down low, most likely in deference to his guests.

  Mr. Young heard his approach and glanced toward him as he reached the bottom of the steps. “Sleep well?”

  “Yes I did,” James replied. “Thank you again for allowing us to crash here.” Coming around to sit upon the couch, he sat at the end opposite Mr. Young. The box of Sees chocolate remained on the coffee table and James was unable to resist. Snagging another candy, this time a nougat full of peanuts, he sat back and turned his attention to the television.

  James felt a sense of peace as he watched the commercials play out. Back before he left, he had considered them a nuisance, a time to flip through the channels or get something to eat. Now though, he sat riveted as each played out, comforted by their familiarity and the memories they produced.

  Beside him on the couch, Mr. Young was quiet as his gaze moved surreptitiously from the television to James and then back. So entranced by rediscovering the wonder of television, James failed to pick up on how still his former teacher was being.