by Jason Letts
“Jeremy, how can you do this? We saved your life and we brought you with us,” Mira stammered, unable to comprehend.
“You brought us here to die! You never had any intention of helping us!” he spat.
“Should’ve known this was coming, Ipswich. When you treat people like dirt, suddenly you got dirt everywhere,” Gloria taunted.
“That’s not true,” Mira replied to Jeremy, her mouth hanging open. “We gave you a chance to be one of us again. You belong with us, Jeremy. You said you were sorry!”
“I’m sorry you were ever born!” he scowled, tightening his grip on Roselyn. “All you’ve ever done is take what was mine, and that can’t compare with a little bit of food. I was supposed to be our leader, to win the Rite at Shadow Mountain! I was going to be a hero, but now I’m nothing because of you!”
“Let her go now!” Will demanded. “You’ve got it all twisted. No one’s made you do anything. You’re choosing this for yourself!”
“Shut up!” Jeremy snapped at him. “You’ll never understand what I’ve been through. You can’t even imagine it!”
Mira, Chucky, and Mary still stood by the edge of the emptying plateau. Behind them, the swirling wind and cloud of dust relented as the entire chamber within the mound had been cleared out. Peeking over her shoulder, Mira glimpsed intact columns, rooms adjoining a great hall, and the bottom of a tunnel leading to the ravine where Ogden Fortst and his band of wanderers had dug their way in so very long ago.
That huge cloud of rock, dirt, and debris sailed high into the air, blotting out the sun as it curved toward Vern on the mountaintop. It seemed to crash directly against him, scattering off the peak in every direction, but his indomitable figure remained.
“Are you really going to kill Roselyn? What are you doing this for?” Mira asked.
“She deserves it,” Jeremy sneered, bringing his voice to a whisper. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of being with you. But you were always too good to even talk to me. Soon it’ll be impossible for you to refuse.” Roselyn cringed and squirmed, but he held her tight against his chest and resumed his yelling. “But that’s not what this is about. This is about the carafe and me finally getting the recognition I deserve. You’re going to go down there and bring it to me, Mira, whole!”
“But it’s not even down there. Vern has it!” she protested.
“Look!”
Twisting around, they saw something sparkle in the sky. Glittering like a falling star, the carafe shard plummeted through the air toward the excavated palace. Vern had thrown it, though he still seemed to retain some influence over the falling cylinder. It slowed as it fell, settling in the middle of the great hall without a sound. Mira stared at it for a moment. It looked so plain on the sculpted stone tiles, but it held the key to everything.
“Everybody else stay where you are! Mira, you go down and don’t come back until you have it all!” Jeremy ordered. Gloria inched toward Will, who retreated up the mountain. There wasn’t much space to their left before the cliff gave way to the ravine.
“Why…why me?” Mira asked.
“Because you’re the only one who doesn’t have a power for the carafe to expand. You can see in my head all you want. That’s how you’ll know I’m serious.”
Jeremy smiled and stroked Roselyn’s blonde curls. Mira turned from her anguished face and stood on the edge of the great hall. She could still see the carafe shard, which sat innocently on the floor. For the moment, she couldn’t know for sure whether Vern had had the skill to sift out the carafe’s other half, or if it had become caught under some impediment. Either way, she alone had to retrieve the pieces and put them together. Her most fervent desire was that the one ultimate power would be enough to save both Roselyn and Aoi, both of whom were in the gravest of danger.
“If Fortst’s story is still of any use, the other shard would be in the throne room against the east side,” Chucky whispered, leaning close to her ear. He had a look of nervous terror in his eyes, one that chilled her long after she looked away.
“You’d better hurry, Mira!” Mary said. She sounded alarmed, pointing down the hillside beyond Jeremy and Gloria. Goober crawled over an embankment and cast a quick glance at them. His had his mouth open and his tongue out but quickly returned to his haphazard, groping ascent.
Gulping and feeling like everything was on the verge of falling apart, Mira looked down into the unearthed cavern. Massive stone pillars of varying heights now had nothing to hold up but the dusty air. One was just a few feet away from the edge, and the drop appeared to be about double her height. Missing the flat surface would invariably lead to broken bones.
Taking a deep breath, she leapt into the air and dropped toward the pillar’s top platform. It stung her fingers and feet when she landed, but she managed to keep herself from rolling off. Glancing back at where she had jumped from, Chucky and Mary returned her gaze with stony faces.
Looking for a way down, Mira assessed the nearby pillars, but none of them seemed close enough for her to jump to. The floor was much too far away as well. Peeking over the edge, the stone plates she stood on offered plentiful footholds. Dangling her legs over the side, she felt for a spot where she could set her weight. She pressed her toes against a nook in the stone and slowly lowered herself against the side.
It became difficult to resist the urge to rush as she methodically tested holds and descended the tall vertical column. She worried about what would happen if she took too long. It was possible Gloria would snap and attack her friends, and she feared Aoi was in more trouble every second.
Placing her foot in another crack between layers of rock, it occurred to her that she had no way of getting back up. Did Jeremy expect her to just throw the carafe up to them? She wasn’t even sure she could hurl it that high. After descending several yards, she came within reach of a much lower pillar. Holding tight, she pushed off and turned in midair to land on it. The ground wasn’t much lower, and she landed on the floor after taking another plunge.
The tiles on the walls surrounding her displayed intricate carvings. Figures and letters beyond what she could comprehend had been etched on every surface. Some had been worn away and now appeared like nothing more than faint lines. It was eerie, making her heart beat harder and her breath become labored.
“Now…I’m alone,” she said.
“You never gotta be alone.”
An image of herself stepped out from behind a pillar. Her sister still managed to frighten her, though the fear seemed more a part of this place than anything she had done.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Mira sighed.
“I been by your side this whole time,” Clara returned.
Bickering and yelling drifted from the rest of their group above, urging Mira to hasten to her task. Leaving the pillars and running for the center of the hall, she reached for the idle carafe shard lying on the floor. Once she had it, all she had to do was find the other half and join them. Then she would find a way to fix everything.
The sound of a blast jolted her attention to the upper edge of the wall on the east side. Arent unleashed an angry wail and a mirthful cackle. Over the barrier separating the edge of the great hall, she could see him lumber up to the plateau’s edge over the throne room.
“You are too late, old friend. I will have it all once more. No one can stop me now!” he barked over his shoulder.
Arent sprang from the edge and dropped behind the barrier into the throne room. Only a dark, covered passageway connected it to the great hall, but Mira could see nothing through it. She scooped up the carafe shard before her and squeezed it tight. How could she get to the other half now that Arent was in there? Still, she felt she had no choice. It had to be done.
“You ought not to go in there!” Clara warned when Mira took her first step forward. “I can’t do nothin’ for you. Least ways here he won’t know who’s who.”
“You’ve done everything you need to. We can’t shy away when we know what
we’re doing is right. Running and hiding isn’t an option. It can’t be the fate of those who strive for hope and peace to fail away in the face of happiness’s bold thieves. This man tore apart our family, but I will not let him break my spirit. I’m not afraid and I will not relent!”
Marching forward, Mira left her sister behind. She climbed a few small steps and moved toward the dark tunnel. She had to place her trust in the belief that goodness would win out. If that were not the case, then this was not a world in which she wanted to live.
Ducking under the low archway, she slipped inside the black passageway. Not a single sound drifted to her from the throne room. Soon it was like nothing else existed for the darkness. She let her fingers drag against the stone walls, feeling the lines of worn engravings. She had to assume Arent had the other half of the carafe by now. There was no doubt he waited for her.
“You’re a fool to face me!” he bellowed, a gust blowing through her hair.
“I’m not made for fighting, but I’m no more likely to flee!”
“Then by the time I’m done with you there will be nothing left!”
She knew this was the moment the twin Specials had foreseen. It would mean her life to try and take the other half of the carafe, but it would bring her the very peace she dreamed of to do what she knew was right. It was striking out in anger that would kill her, even if not doing so would bring her death.
Passing through the tunnel, she began to see faint shapes within the throne room. The light from above filtered down and fanned into the passageway. A great seat made from smooth granite had a thin table just in front of it. That’s where Fortst must’ve found the carafe in the first place, but now it was empty. The eerie discomfort only increased as she reached the end and peeked around to the corners. Arent was nowhere to be found.
Stepping out into the dusty room, she crossed her arms and waited. Arent’s fingers crawled around the throne’s back. Clenching them, he made the stone crack and crumble. He rose, a possessed, ravenous snarl marring his grim visage. It was the first time she’d looked at him while holding the carafe shard, and in an instant a flood of images invaded her mind.
Chapter 10: In A Flash
“You’re a teacher. You have to teach him!”
A large, overbearing woman with frizzy blonde hair was scolding a stringy man in a suit. They stood in the doorway of a dilapidated schoolhouse, the teacher sweating profusely and appearing genuinely afraid.
“Please, Miss. Let’s look at this rationally. Some children are not right for school. They can’t learn the way we do. It’s too much for them to handle,” he quibbled, gazing up at her and shrinking away.
“That has nothing to do with my boy! There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just like the rest of us!”
Her hollering made his moustache twitch, and some spittle splashed against the surface of his glasses. They were both breathing deeply, one out of anger and one out of fear.
“I mean no disrespect, please. He can be a lovely boy, but…” he began, hesitating, “there’s something about him that’s different, off. You can see it in his eyes that he’s going to turn out bad. It doesn’t matter that he’s only five years old, you can already tell.”
The woman gasped, her eyes wide and her chin quivering. She put her hand to her mouth and looked over his shoulder. Rows of shoddy desks filled the one-room schoolhouse. All of them were empty, except one. A boy who was too big for the tiny desks clutched a pencil and dragged it against a sheet of paper as one would stab with a knife. He had frizzy blonde hair puffing out of his head. Some of it was singed as though it’d caught fire.
“He can hear you!” she whispered forcefully. “How dare you say that about him! He’s a good boy, hasn’t ever done a thing to nobody. It’s people like you that’ll ruin him, ’specially if you keep treating him like he don’t belong!”
The teacher pursed his lips and tilted his head. He kept his eyes down as he began to speak again.
“Be that as it may, we must address that he is dangerous and destructive in a way I can’t begin to control. My power is to melt things, and I wouldn’t stand a chance. None of us would. The students are afraid of him. It’s only a matter of time until there’s an accident and someone gets killed. The other parents just plain don’t want him in class with their children.”
“You spineless coward! You call yourself a teacher? You’ve got the constitution of grape jelly. Not once since the web instilled him with his gift has he had an accident. You’re doing a disservice to the honor of Wilson Creek. I’ll go right to the village elder himself unless you accept him in your class!” the boy’s mother threatened.
“I’m sorry,” the teacher shrugged. “The decision came from Wilson, and I can’t say he’s wrong about it.”
Fed up, the woman held her clenched fists in front of her chest. The teacher cowered back, but when she snapped she pushed him aside and stormed toward the boy seated in the desk.
“Come along, Arent,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him up. She marched him back to the entrance, glaring at the teacher as she passed. “I’ll teach you myself. I may not know a lot, but I know enough not to hang around where we’re not wanted.”
Arent gazed at his teacher through puzzled, wondering eyes.
That same boy, now five years older, wept beside his mother’s deathbed. Pale and feverish, she jerked her head every now and then, though nothing focused her vacant staring. Arent held her hand and sniffled, feeling like the only thing that mattered to him was slipping away.
The only light shone from a candle on the nightstand. It was a dark afternoon, and rain dripped through a roof of withering boards, drizzling on top of them and threatening to extinguish the candle. The floor supported a layer of water that reached all the way to the fire pit and cooking cauldron on the other side. He sat on a rickety stool, one of the few pieces of furniture other than the two beds and a soggy bookcase.
“You have to get well!” he cried, but his mother didn’t appear to hear him. He hung his head, despairing that there was nothing either of them could do about her health. There was one person who could do something, and Arent saw him jog to his door a moment later. The knock came, making Arent leap to his feet, almost tipping the stool over.
“Do you have it?” Arent asked, entranced by the dignified gentleman huddling underneath the small awning. Though he was only ten, Arent matched his size, but the clothing his mother made for him looked shabby in comparison.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to come in, but he scowled when he saw the wet floor and remained in the entryway.
“I don’t know how long she’ll last. You can heal her. That’s what you do.” Arent’s deliberate, monosyllabic way of speaking had already become entrenched within him. Though they were of the same height, the healer clearly looked down on him.
“It’s a complicated business, my boy. I regret that I’m far from the most talented healer in the land. Only my earwax contains the properties that can bring your mother back to good health, though it takes quite a long time to grow it.”
“But you have some for her, right?”
The healer sighed, and all of the oxygen in the air seemed to vanish. He tapped his foot against the ground, and crossed his arms in front of him. Arent waited, his mouth hanging open and his hand on the dark wooden door.
“I regret to inform you that there’s another woman who at this moment finds herself drifting toward the hands of death. She’s a close personal friend of our beloved elder, Wilson, and she’s very well regarded in the community at large. It would be a tragedy if we lost her! They’ve decided she will be the recipient of my medicine. I’m terribly sorry.”
He backed away into the rain and prepared himself for physical retaliation, but Arent simply slunk against the doorway and ducked his face into his arm to weep. He looked up at the healer to beg. They were somewhat removed from town, so there was no one else around from which to draw either sympathy or scorn.
“No,
please. She will die. I can’t lose her,” he mumbled, tears streaming down his face mingled with the rainwater that dripped from the ceiling. The healer remained unmoved. He shrugged against the falling drops and took another step back.
“My condolences, son. We hate to lose a member of Wilson Creek, but there’s nothing we can do.”
The healer turned to walk away, and Arent watched him go. He slowly pulled the door closed as he leaned against the frame. Taking a few huffing breaths, he paced around the room, splashing through the thin layer of water on the floor. His face tightened up and he clenched his fists. Twisting suddenly, he punched at the wall but stopped short of striking it.
He put his hands to his head and staggered toward the bookcase. There were only a few tattered titles on the shelves. He picked up one called “Outdoor Living,” passing over the one next to it entitled, “Unlocking the Power of Spirituality.” He flipped through the pages, which contained a few worn images of plants and animals, some handwritten text, and maps of the area. Letting the pages pass by much too quickly to read anything, he got to the end and tossed the book on the shelf.
A quick glance at his ailing mother made him purse his lips and squint. He shuffled to the bedside stool and sat down next to her. His eyes were red and the veins in his arms and neck shone through his skin. During just a moment of watching her, he went from weeping to angrily gritting his teeth and back again.
He slouched in the stool until his mother made a whimpering noise and recoiled from the candlelight. Jerking suddenly, Arent snatched the yellow stick from its stand. Grunting, he made it explode. Hot wax sprayed against the walls and ceiling, casting everything around them in darkness.
Arent and a stocky woman were digging a well near a farmhouse by Wilson Creek six years later. Back to back, they shoveled huge plods of earth and flung them into a pile near the cornfields. It was late afternoon, and the sun glared down on them. Standing in the hole they’d dug, Arent was just tall enough for his head to poke out the top.