The House of Grey- Volume 4

by Earl, Collin

  Monson looked closer, sweeping his eyes along the bottom border of the drawing. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be seeing. “All I see are statues, carved pillars, and some drawings of people fighting.”

  “Exactly,” Grayson said smiling. “Do you see anything special about these pillars?”

  Monson looked again. What was he was supposed to be seeing? Think...think... He knew that most of what he saw were symbols of some sort. There was some sort of hidden meaning behind all this. There had to be. He closed his eyes and pictured the drawing, trying to mentally place himself inside it, trying to place himself there. He touched the journal, resting his hand on the cover, trying to focus, trying to bring it to life. He felt something swirl within him, something that was of him but at the same time not. He concentrated on that motion. As he unconsciously traced the symbol on the cover of the journal, Monson heard something within the distant echoes of his brain. Suddenly a flash of blinding light lit up the room and then pain, that familiar burning sensation, seared him before dying out as the light overcame it.

  Monson opened his eyes and realized that he could not see anything. It was like a strobe light had been placed front of him; the flash of light was such a contrast to Grayson’s dim room. He blinked again. Still nothing. He felt exhausted, like his body was at the breaking point. He put his hands on his chair intending to get up. Underneath him he felt cold stone.

  “What the...” said Monson aloud as he felt the cold, grainy texture. He lifted his hands and set them gently on his face. “Take a deep breath,” he said to himself, closing his eyes and collecting his thoughts. Grayson.

  “Grayson?” he said in a quiet voice. He heard nothing.

  “Grayson?”

  Monson stood up.

  Whatever happens, you are not going to freak out. You have experienced all kinds of freaky crap. Something weird is going on but you will remain calm.

  He opened his eyes, looked around at his surroundings, and suddenly wished the lights and even the pain would come back.

  He was now standing in the middle of the huge hall. Ratty, disheveled men who were running in different directions in a great hurry simply ignored him. He spun on the spot, taking in the whole of his surroundings. He gawked at a large, multilevel, three-dimensional mosaic on an edifice located in the exact center of the chamber. Suddenly, Monson knew where he was: in a cave in the Alps, standing in front of the Tower, a place recorded in a journal written more than sixty years ago. Monson fell to his knees letting his shock consume him.

  Chapter 44 - Truths

  Monson felt like screaming.

  Why can’t anything be normal?

  He had just been having a weird but pleasant conversation with Grayson, and he was finally getting some answers.

  “Howdy!”

  Monson spun to see himself leaning calmly against a pillar a short distance away.

  “Dawn!” exclaimed Monson, moving quickly towards him. “What are you doing here? Wait—never mind that. Where am I? How did I get here? If you tell me I am where I think I am, I’m going to hit you, even if you do look like me.”

  “Calm down, Monson.” Dawn straightened up and walked towards him. Before he had taken more than a few steps, however, one of the dirty men came scampering by, totally oblivious to their presence. He was rushing past just when Dawn stumbled forward. Monson closed his eyes, expecting a crash and a stream of swearing. When this did not happen, he opened his eyes to see Dawn’s head sticking through the man’s chest as if he were a ghost.

  “Well, if that’s not the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen,” commented Monson.

  “You need to relax.” Dawn extricated himself from the man’s chest, apparently finding it very humorous. “You will live longer, you know.”

  “Relax?” Monson gritted his teeth angrily. “How can I relax? In the last three days my already weirder-than-normal life has kicked into overdrive, from conversations with myself, freaky dreams, my ability to freeze an indoor fountain, to finding out that my quirky antisocial classmate is actually a part of some international organization that is trying to find a mystical being who is destined to save the world. THE WORLD, Dawn! What does that even mean? And now I’m in a hall that is supposedly buried deep within the mountains of Europe, surrounded by sweaty, half-starved men, when two minutes ago I was sitting in a dormitory in Washington State sipping tea and reading a book! What part of this should I be “relaxed” about?”

  Dawn’s expression hovered between a sympathetic smile and a knowing smirk. Monson shuddered as he looked himself in the eye. He was never going to get used to this.

  “You’re right,” relented Dawn. “When you say it like that it does seem like a bit much.”

  “Is there any other form you could take?” spouted Monson in irritation. “The whole conversation-with-myself thing is getting old.”

  “You sure are cranky today. Are you not sleeping well?”

  Monson glowered at Dawn.

  “Sorry. I was just asking.”

  Monson dropped it, moving on to more important topics. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? How did I get here?”

  Dawn grinned outlandishly. “I do not really know. I have never seen anything like this, though I am far from the greatest reference.”

  “You don’t know?” Monson did his best to control his incredulity. “What do you mean you don’t know? Aren’t you supposed to be the mentor who guides the hero? Hello, if I’m the hero of this stupid story then I should have a guide. It’s in all the good fantasy books. It’s a rule to have a guide. If you’re not the guide, then you’re just an annoying person who talks in my head.”

  Monson waited for a moment. “Well?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Geez, you’re useless.” Monson sighed one of his rich, heavy sighs as he plopped down on the ground. “I’m getting too old for this.”

  “At the ripe old age of fifteen, huh?” commented Dawn. “Ready to throw in the hat already?”

  “Shut up,” retorted Monson. “And it’s throw in the towel, not hat.”

  “Whatever. Listen, instead of sitting here wasting air, you could try to figure out why you brought yourself here.”

  “What do you mean?” Monson glanced up at Dawn. “Didn’t you bring me here?”

  “No, I did not. I just came to make sure you did not go back in time or something.”

  “Could I do that?”

  “Not entirely positive one way or the other, but I did not think I should take the chance.”

  “You’re no help.” Monson twisted around, surveying his surroundings. “So you have no idea how I got here?”

  “Oh, I have an idea how you got here. I just do not know why.”

  “That’s comforting.” Monson stood back up and started to move around the chamber taking in the vast expanse, exerting all his willpower not to become overwhelmed. He tried touching one of the large columns and was surprised when his hand went right through it. A thought came to him.

  “I’m not really here, am I?”

  “Correct,” Dawn beamed encouragingly.

  “OK, so I’m not really here,” said Monson again for his own benefit. “And I have never been to Europe, let alone to a secret underground hall that houses massive stone mosaics. So how is that I’m here and seeing this? It seems unlikely that I transported myself.”

  Dawn continued to smile as Monson worked through the problem. “Go on.”

  Monson analyzed and reprocessed the known information. “OK, I’m leaning towards one of two conclusions, but neither makes sense. Wait a moment.”

  He again tried to touch the closest pillar. Again his hand went right through it.

  “Hold on.” Monson rounded on Dawn, eyes wide. “Earlier I was able to touch that bench over there. What happened?”

  “Well, that is interesting,” Dawn answered coyly. “What did happen?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I cannot say that I do.”

  �
��You bug me.”

  “I do my best.”

  “I bet you do.” Monson started to retreat, but Dawn caught his shoulder before he could get very far.

  “I can offer this, though. If you find your interactions with your environment to be inconsistent, then either you have changed or something has changed within your environment.”

  Monson repeated Dawn’s words. “Either I’ve changed or something has changed within my environment? OK, it’s obvious that something has changed within this environment. I was able to touch that bench over there, now I can’t. That must be something with the environment, right?”

  “What makes you say that?” asked Dawn casually. “But first answer me this: Do you know enough about the nature of this environment to make that assumption?”

  Monson thought for a moment. “No…I don’t think I do. I think I get what you’re hinting at. The logical place to start is within myself.”

  Dawn simply smiled proudly. Monson understood this to mean he was correct.

  He resumed his exploration of the central chamber, reexamining the sequence of events that had landed him in this strange place. He thought of Grayson and their topic of conversation right before his “journey.” Monson forced his slightly fuzzy head to focus as he tried to recall what he was attempting to figure out in that conversation with Grayson. He decided to start from the beginning.

  He first focused on the Tower—how it appeared before him now versus the drawing in the journal. He recalled the depictions of the various items found in the rooms surrounding the central chamber. He pictured the drawings of the angelic figures and the one of the lone being standing out among the millions. Finally, he conjured his version of a hero, the type of character who shows up in movies and mangas to save the day.

  Monson ground his teeth together. He wanted to know! He wanted to understand. That knowledge was the only way he would be able to act. The only way he could move forward. He had to know, he had to move forward. He had to believe that he could find out, understand and move forward. An idea struck Monson. An idea so simple that he almost kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner.

  “Knowledge.” Monson addressed Dawn solemnly. “That was what changed. My own knowledge of my situation.”

  “Bravo,” said Dawn, clapping his hands. “That is one of the keys of using magic. The knowledge and understanding of its existence, and your willingness to believe in that knowledge. Belief and knowledge, Monson; remember this. They are two very powerful concepts, more powerful than you could ever imagine. Fun fact for you: Every human born in this world has the ability to use magic, but most cannot. Why do you think that is?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Because they refuse to believe,” said Dawn quietly. “They refuse to look within themselves and find what has always been there.”

  “Wait a second,” interjected Monson. “That doesn’t make sense. I didn’t believe in magic. How could I have used it in the Atrium?”

  “Well, you do not believe consciously and you are a bit different from most people. Your situation is unique, one might say. It is difficult for you to use and understand magic because not only are you in a world that does not believe in it, but also your power has already been made manifest subconsciously. Accessing it subconsciously makes it more difficult for you to do it consciously.”

  “OK….” Monson’s mind started to race. “So what does all that mean? I now know that I have to believe in magic. Does that mean I can use it now?”

  “Not exactly. Knowledge does not equal understanding, and you need to understand as well,” said Dawn, giving Monson another coy smile, which sharply reminded Monson that he was talking to himself. “You won’t be able to understand magic until you understand the secret of the Magi Blade.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  “Because if I just tell you, you would not comprehend it. You must realize that for yourself. A conceptual discussion would impede your progress and probably kill you in the process.”

  Monson’s eyes narrowed. “I think you keep secrets just for the fun of it.”

  Dawn laughed. “Well, you have heard the saying that every…” He stopped and looked thoughtful. “Everyone has their secrets, right? It would make sense that I have some, too.”

  “I doubt I have any from you,” said Monson, glaring at him.

  “Yes, but we have already established that you are special.”

  “You REALLY bug me.”

  “I know.”

  Grudgingly, Monson changed topics. “So how do I get back? Can you tell me that?”

  “Have you finished what you came here to do?” asked Dawn. “I doubt you will be able to get back until you finish that.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “Oh—guardians! I was trying to remember what you were saying about guardians. Since you’re here, can you tell me anything about these guardians?”

  “Actually, this is one subject that I do not really know any more about than you do.”

  “Wait—Dawn, you could be a guardian!” said Monson excitedly. “Could that paper—the Journal, the final picture Grayson showed me, the last two symbols, could it be referring to you?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Dawn shook his head. “I’m more of a safety measure I think.”

  “You think?” Monson’s eyebrow shot up.

  “It is difficult to explain, and it is hardly relevant right now. Let us just say that I am here for a very specific purpose, with rather strict limitations. I think you and I will understand more once we figure out who put me here.”

  Monson let his mouth slacken in confusion. “Now you really aren’t making sense. You don’t know who put you here?”

  “No, I do not. Nor do I believe I was meant to. It seems to me that whoever they are, they really did not know what was going on. Even I am not really even sure.”

  “Can you tell me anything as to why you’re here?”

  Dawn smiled. “I am here to protect you.”

  Monson scowled. “But then wouldn’t that make you a guardian?”

  “No, I am more akin to a dam than a guardian.”

  “A dam?”

  “Yes, a dam.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No, I do not expect you do.”

  Monson sighed as he resumed his pacing, not knowing what else to do. His logical reasoning caused him to look around and scrutinize the whole chamber one more time. It was obvious to him there must be information here that he needed, but what was it? Then an idea came to him. He figured he might as well try it out.

  “Dawn, can you get me up there?” Monson pointed directly up.

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Because I have a theory about this place that I want to test out.”

  “Sure, hold on.”

  Dawn lifted his arm in a very phlegmatic way and pointed at Monson. He hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Monson.

  Dawn bit the corner of his lip. “You will need to close your eyes.”

  The eyebrow shot up again. “Why?”

  “Just trust me. This is not something you are ready to see.”

  Monson did as he was told. “Is this good enough?”

  “Yes, hold on tight.”

  “Hold onto what—”

  Monson shot into the air like a drunken firecracker. Thankfully the turbulence only lasted a moment and he came to an abrupt stop. It felt as if he were standing on solid ground.

  “Walk around,” yelled Dawn from the ground far below. “You will not fall, I have you.”

  Monson started to walk around and examine his surroundings, trying hard to ignore the fact that he was suspended many feet in up in the air. He breathed deeply and continued his inspection, finding that thus far nothing really seemed out of the ordinary—at least in the current sense of the word. He touched one of the massive support columns laced intermittently throughout the central chamber. He touch
ed it and found to his delight that if he focused, his hand did not go straight through it. It was then that a clue manifested itself.

  “Dawn! Can you join me up here?” yelled Monson in a hurried voice.

  “What’s up?” Dawn materialized at Monson’s side, startling him a bit. “Figure out something?”

  “Not quite, but look at this.” Monson pointed at various portions of the Tower.

  “I don’t understand what I am looking at. What is it?”

  “I don’t know either.”

  Both Dawn and Monson, floating in midair, facing the huge carved mosaic, stared at it in shock. From this vantage point, approximately halfway to the top, Monson and Dawn could see all the paths, passages and stairs that Grayson’s grandfather mentioned in his journal. That drawing really did not do the Tower justice and most definitely did not convey how very large and intricate the structure was. Oddly enough, the paths, stairways and even some of the external carvings were not complete. It seemed like they were part of some vast spectacular dream that, in his haste, the dreamer forgot to finish completely. In these unfinished areas was a glowing ooze of some sort. Monson looked at Dawn, who nodded and instantly moved them towards one of the “missing” portions.

  They touched down near a large spiraling stone staircase on the fourth landing, and were momentarily blinded by the magnificence of the structure before them. They reveled in the Tower’s precise carvings, artful paintings, and detailed tapestries. Despite this, now that they were actually within the Tower, the atmosphere got under Monson’s skin; he had a slightly eerie feeling. He found himself thinking that the whole of this...place...whatever it was, almost had to be made out of magic based on what he saw on the landing alone. The paintings, carvings and other works of art were just a little too surreal to be entirely plausible. Could normal artists create something so beautiful? He wasn’t sure.