by W. Peever
When Charlie woke up his head was still in Tillie's lap. His eyes met hers, and she responded with a slight smile that sent electricity through both.
"We're here, Charlie." Tillie's voice was soft and loving as she brushed his bangs behind his ear one last time.
Charlie smiled up at her, recharged, and ready to continue their quest. "Then what are we waiting for?" he asked, with a nod towards the door.
They grabbed their packs and headed towards the front of the train, where the conductor had stepped down to let everyone out. As they exited the train car, a man in jeans, black sweatshirt and hood got up from his seat and followed them.
The air outside was oppressively hot and sticky meeting their air-conditioned skin. Charlie wiped the sweat beading on his forehead, and listened to the heat bugs that sang out into the early evening, reverberating in the forest around them. The foursome found themselves surrounded by an ocean of black and blue, as now the suited workforce exited. It was so simple for them, Charlie thought. All these mortals had to do in life was get on a train, go into Boston, work from nine to five, and then they got to go home to a family, a normal life. They even got two days off a week, to cut their lawns and walk their dogs. His life was never going to be that easy; never going to get a day off from being a Manserian. Tillie's hand clasped around Charlie's and they followed Colin through the throngs of suits towards a small information booth constructed to look like a miniature townhouse.
A boy around Colin's age hung lazily from the open window of the booth watching the people go by while bobbing his head to the music he had cranked up. When he saw the four friends approaching he whipped around and shut off the music, then ducked down out of view, only to appear a moment later at the window again. His curly blond hair bounced around his ears as he waved maps and pamphlets in Charlie's direction.
"Welcome to Westford!" The boy cried out with the enthusiasm of a clown at gunpoint. "We are excited to host this year's regional semi-finals for the Tri-County United Bowling League! The event begins tonight at eight, so it's not too late for you to grab a bite to eat at Molly's Diner down the street!"
Colin raised his hand in the air. "Okay, hold on there," he pleaded.
The boy dropped the pamphlets down on the windowsill. However, the exaggerated smile remained.
"We're not here for the bowling tournament." Charlie explained dismissively.
"Oh, of course! You must be here for the strawberry festival. This year we moved the date so it would coincide with the bowling tournament! The band sounds amazing— they were practicing earlier in the afternoon, and…?"
"No! Seriously, stop talking." Colin snapped. The boy dropped his smile. "We're not here for the strawberry festival, nor are we here to watch some fat old guys bowl."
"Then why are you here?" the boy snapped back.
"We need directions to go see the Westford Knight," said Mick, who had bellied up to the window.
"Dude, seriously?" The boy had lost his proper, excited tone and now spoke in the idled drawl of a California surfer boy. "There's, like, nothing to do over there, man…no point. It's just some graffiti from the eighteen hundreds, someone's idea of a joke."
"They carbon dated it, and found it to be really old, like pre Columbus." said Tillie, getting into the spirit if not quite the accent.
"Archeologists say one thing; geologists say another, man…no reason to it. But, seriously, it's just one huge slab of rock…who cares?" The boy took out a map that looked more like a kid's place mat from a diner. "We are like… here." The boy pointed to a grossly oversized information booth. "You need to go down this street here, and then down here and then…ya, right here. It'll take you a while, though…that's, like, miles from here." The boy's smile returned to his face and his accent disappeared. "May I suggest a trip to Molly's Diner—best apple pie in New England!"
"Maybe," said Colin, "but if it's as far as you said we'd better get walking."
"Wait…listen…" the boy pleaded, his California accent returning. "If I don't send at least one person to a destination today I'm going to get fired…and I totally need this job. Let's make a deal. You go into Molly's, tell her I sent you and then when I get off at six, which is like in twenty minutes, I'll drive you to the site."
The boy looked hopefully at the four friends, who nodded their approval. "Deal," said Colin, extending his hand. The boy grabbed Colin's hand and shook it with gusto.
"Excellent! I'll meet you outside the diner in twenty minutes. I drive a yellow school bus, the short kind," he smiled.
Colin nodded to the strange boy, and led his friends toward a silver airstream camper that had been converted into Molly's Diner. The sleek silver tube looked like a giant beer can with a door and a big neon sign that blinked Mo-ls, the other l and the y burned out. A large woman in a tootight pink dress with a white apron greeted them with a smile, and directed them to sit where they liked. They found a small booth in a corner. The diner was thick with the odor of French fries and chocolate ice cream; its sky blue walls adorned with old black-and-white pictures and town memorabilia, reminding Charlie of one of those chain restaurants that his mother always called McDonald's with a liquor license.
Molly smiled over at them, her smeared red lipstick tugging at her dry lips as she spoke. "What will it be, honey?" she asked, looking at Charlie.
Colin pulled the wad of cash from his uncle out of his pocket and offered a twenty. "How much will this get us?" he asked, not waiting for a menu.
"Well, add a five to that, and it will get you four burgers, fries, chocolate shakes and my tip." Molly smiled, masticating the gum between her teeth. Smack! She popped a bubble in the gum, sending projectile spit down on Mick, who responded by edging closer to Colin by the window.
Colin elbowed Mick and peeled off a five. The proprietress snatched the bills from his hand and waddled toward the kitchen, hanging the order slip at the kitchen window and slamming her hand down on the small counter bell six times. A huge man, twice her size, lumbered to the window, wiped the remains of his dinner from his week-old stubble and tore the ticket down.
"Make yourself useful, Nick!" she bellowed through the window. "And try not to burn the hell out of the burgers. The last ones were like hockey pucks."
Nick mumbled something under his breath that sounded like "cow," then ducked as a plate hit the wall behind him. He lumbered off to make their meal, while Molly began to scoop chocolate ice cream into the tall silver cup of the shake machine.
"You kids here for the Strawberry Festival?" she called over the now whirling shake maker.
"Um, yes," said Tillie, who had decided that it was easier to play to the town folk's expectations than to tell them what they were really there for. "It sounds exciting. Did you hear the band practicing earlier?"
"Bunch of banging, and kids who can't play their instruments, if you ask me…but I could hear them…you lot might even like their noise," the waitress responded. "The whipped cream and strawberries the high school booster club sells are to die for, though," she added with a curt nod, and brought them their chocolate shakes. The cook in the back slammed four plates in the window, burped and rang the bell informing the waitress that the order was up.
Molly did her best to sashay up to the window, retrieve the plates, and toss them in front of the kids. It was the first meal Charlie and his friends had had all day, and their ravenous hunger overcame their table manners as they dug into the hamburgers. The grease mixed with the ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise, creating a palette of colors that dripped down their eager chins and on and around the plates below. Tillie had just reached the point in her chocolate shake where the straw makes that stifled sucking sound when a loud car horn blew outside. It suddenly made sense to everyone why the boy who offered them a ride drove a school bus: he needed the room for his surfboard, kayak and mountain bike, which were all strapped to the roof. As he was waving for them to hop in it occurred to Charlie that they had neglected to tell Molly that the boy had referre
d them.
"Um, 'scuze me…Ma'am?" Charlie stuttered. The woman turned from the bucket of dirty plates she was bringing to the kitchen. "The boy out there…in the bus? He sent us here."
"Lenny sent you?" the waitress sighed. "Okay, I suppose I'll need to tip him." She waved them off as they exited the restaurant.
Lenny had rigged the old yellow school bus with a roof rack and painted the sides of it to look like a blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt. He climbed out the driver's side window and leaned over the roof of the bus. "Had to weld the doors shut. Climb in the back emergency door and take a seat—It's only about a ten minute drive from here. Did ya have the apple pie?"
Colin nodded. He opened the back door for the others to climb in, and shut it tight behind them, sliding the red emergency release bar back into place.
"Hey Lenny!" shouted Mick, plopping down in the seat behind the driver. "So what's up with the fake accent you use at work?"
"The boss man makes me do it—says my version of how to speak isn't what tourists expect to hear in New England. Not that hard…I grew up here in Westford. My Cali-cool is from spending this crazy month there last year. Fell in love with everything Californian, and as soon as I graduate I am heading right back over there, in old Bessie here." He patted the steering wheel with great affection. "I choose my own path—blond, easygoing, surfer boy. Dyed my hair, changed my name, bought Bessie here, and in less than a year I'll be driving myself across the country to the beaches of Southern California!"
Tillie reached over across the bus aisle and touched Charlie's knee, giving it the slightest squeeze of…what? Encouragement? Friendship? Dare he guess, love? So much had changed in the last few days that he was finding it hard to process. Could Tillie have fallen in love with him? Did he love her? He certainly felt…something. And what of if Charlie wanted to leave this life of a Jumper? Hadn't Grayson told him that he had the choice to leave? Tillie loved the boy who stood up to danger, the boy who charged the cave trolls, and the boy whose destiny was intertwined with the rise or fall of the Gods themselves. Would she still have feelings for him if he turned his back on all that?
Charlie let his hand slide over Tillie's, their fingers intertwining. He would let these feelings rest for the moment, these thoughts of a world without the constant onslaught of fireballs, and concentrate on the mission. Tillie's blue eyes, electric in the fading light, bore right through him, and he grasped her hand tighter one last time as the bus jerked to a stop.
"What the bloody hell was that, mate?" Colin demanded, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He'd fallen off of his seat.
"Sorry…still working on the brakes." Lenny replied. "We're here."
"Where?" asked Mick, looking out the window at the well-manicured lawns of properties of the well to do. "This looks like a residential street."
"It is," Lenny replied. "See that section of chain fencing off the rock over on the side of the road?"
"Ya."
"That's the Tablet! I'd hurry if I were you—doesn't look like you have much light left. Want me to wait?" Lenny offered.
"No, thanks," replied Charlie. "This has been a real help, and good luck with making it to California, man; it truly sounds like paradise."
Tillie lifted an eyebrow as if to say, Ya, if you don't like hot showers and clean bed sheets. But she smiled and gave Lenny a peck on the cheek.
Lenny blew the modified horn that sounded the first few chords of a surfing song, and waved out the window as he drove off in a billow of black smoke. The four travelers turned toward the unimpressive rock slab.
"Seriously? No, seriously, this is it? It's a bloody paving stone on the side of the road."
Charlie put his hand on Colin's back in a soothing gesture, and brought out the astrolabe that immediately spun wildly in his hand. "Yep, I think this would be it."
Colin huffed and followed the others to the fencedoff rock. He wasn't wrong: it looked like a failed tourist attraction rather than anything of cosmic significance. The rusting copper sign was like those he remembered on his way up to the White Mountains of New Hampshire.
Tillie stepped over the chain to read it in the twilight. Satisfied, she stepped back.
"Well?" grunted Colin, impatience boiling over.
"Nothing we don't already know, guys," she replied. "Talks about the voyage of Saint Clair and all that stuff, and how this could be the site of a burial, but nothing new." Tillie pouted, kicking at one of many smaller stones littering the monument site.
"Well then," said Charlie, walking over. "Shall we find out something we don't know?" He placed the Astrolabe carefully down on the rock and waited. Nothing. "Well, that was a bust," Charlie admitted sheepishly.
"Maybe we need to find some sort of inscription… around the carving of the knight." Tillie suggested.
The four, one after the other, brought their flashlights out as the veil of darkness cast deep-blue shadows around them. On their hands and knees, they ran their fingers along the grooves in the rock, tracing the hilt of the knight's sword, the outline of his shield, the crest of his helm—searching for a rune, a symbol, anything that might satisfy the Astrolabe.
From the deepening shadows of the trees nearby, the same hooded man from the train watched them, the black of his sweatshirt blending seamlessly with the darkening night.
"I found something! I'm not sure what, though," cried Mick, as the others scooted over to see. "There are scratches under the lip of this edge…definitely man-made!"
Charlie got down on his back, making a valiant but vain attempt to get his flashlight and eye down below the low lip of rock too close to the ground. "Does anyone have a mirror or something to reflect the image?"
All eyes turned to Tillie, who hissed back defensively, "What are you three thinking? I'm a girl so I have to carry a mirror because I'm so vain? That is so sexist! Why didn't you look at Mick for a…"
"Makeup mirror?" scoffed Mick.
"Maybe you should, mate!" laughed Colin. "Cover up some of those unsightly freckles."
Tillie laughed despite herself. "It just so happens that I have one," she said, handing over a dainty, cream-colored plastic circle. "But next time don't assume."
"Oh no, not me. Never again," said Mick, holding two fingers in the air. "Scouts' honor."
Charlie opened the mirror and, pointing his flashlight, peered down at the image reflecting back at him. "It's a series of runes!" Charlie exclaimed.
"Get Astrolabe, mate." instructed Colin.
"Charlie traced his fingers around the circumference of the golden device, locating each rune and symbol and turning the metal dials until all aligned with the red arrow. There was an audible click, and the red arrow began to turn wildly. The numbers on what they now referred to as the odometer spun too, to 245.
"Great," sighed Colin, slumping his shoulders. "Two hundred and forty-five kilometers, to the…" He checked the red arrow. "North."
"I'll get the map out." Tillie announced.
A twig snapped behind them, and all twirled around, reaching for weapons and bending into crouching defensive mode.
"No need for a map," said a voice from the shadows. "We need to go to Spirit Pond, Maine." The hooded man stepped into the beam of Charlie's flashlight, and removed his hood. An inward gasp of breath was heard, then silence. It was the old Templar from the cave.
Chapter Seventeen The Enemy of Mine Enemy is My Friend
Excalibur glowed blue in Charlie's hands as he flung himself at the man. It took both Colin and Mick to hold him back, although each of them kept a weapon drawn ready in their other hand.
"I don't blame you for your hatred," said the man. "You would think with all the years I have behind me that I'd have more sense than to throw my lot in with the likes of Vali. I truly saw no other way. The Order is corrupt; Merlin did hide the crystals, preventing the Veil between the Gods' dimension and ours from opening. And the Order refused to send their Jumper—you—to rectify the problem. I couldn't just stand there with all this
knowledge, not when the Vanari would welcome the return of the Gods, given the chance. Their methods are questionable but at least they are honest about who they are. However, when they took that girl…"
"Where is she? Where is Bailey?" Charlie yelled at him, straining against the hands that now held him fast to the ground.
"You have to understand—Vali told me he just wanted to talk to you, make you understand that the Order is corrupting you, brainwashing you into believing that they truly want the Gods to return, when the truth is quite the opposite. I thought that if I helped them, you might see the light and help me open the gates to the Gods once again." The man's face turned an ashen gray. "He meant to kill you then and there, take your ring…and steal your power as you died…I didn't realize any of this until he took the girl. I am so sorry. I was wrong."
Charlie glared up at him. "Where?"
"Safe…she's safe," the man replied, looking down in disgrace. I convinced the Vanari to allow the Templar Order to watch over her. She is safe, I promise you. This is why I came to you. I think there is another choice. The Templar don't need to choose between the Vanari and the Order. Instead, I hope we can choose you." He gave a meaningful look down at the boy.
"I watched you that day by the cave. You were ready to die for what you believed to be right. I see so much good in you, so much of what we adults seem to have lost… hope. If you can find the tablets, and decode your ring, you will have a choice to make. I believe, given all the facts, you will make the choice that needs to be made."
The old man looked up at Colin. "As the Templar closest to Charlie, the Templar Order will be yours to command. You will lead us in the War that is coming. But first the Chosen One will need to open the gates to the Gods."