Through Time

By Dabeagle

email

Chapter 1

I have always been a dreamer, and for a surprisingly practical reason: Reality sucked. Well, maybe not so surprising; I guess it's sort of logical. School ate up the bulk of my time and was probably number three or so on the 'reality sucks meter'. As time goes by it has dawned on me that I have very little in common with the people I go to school with. For example they have parents. I know, you're wondering how someone can't have parents, a physical impossibility. I had a mother and father, once up on a time, but that was before they gave me up as a ward of the state. I know, it's sad, but you might say to me 'at least you can cherish the time you did have with them.'

They gave me up at birth. Do you think they could tell I was gay when I popped out? The rainbow flag clutched in my hand? A really tiny pair of gold lame shorts? Maybe a sequined gown? I'd have left me there too I guess, if any of those were true. I'd also want to know what my mom was eating during her pregnancy, 'cause sequins? Not edible.

Being gay was just a wrinkle though, not even on my list of why reality sucked. True, it made for complications that found their way to the list, but I figure being gay just is, the complications are just stupid. Like the fact that, statistically, there are other people at this school that are gay, but I can't find one. That and the group home doesn't provide a dowry, I guess, so what do I have to offer?

This small town just wasn't ready for me, even though history clearly shows I would have lived a normal life centuries ago. We have this funny idea that people from the past were less intelligent than we are now, but in some aspects they were far more advanced culturally. For example, Hadrian, one of the 'good emperors' of Rome, built a city and declared his lover, Antinous, a deity. Antinoopolis was forged on the banks of the mighty Nile River. In fact, the cult of Antinous flourished for centuries after Hadrian died, even. That was love; I wonder if anyone will ever build me a city?

Probably not. In lieu of such grand gestures, I make my home at St. Sylvan's, a 'home for at risk youth'. It's not horrible. The staff is reasonably nice, in fact nicer to me overall since I'm a permanent resident, unlike the others that stay for three or six months before returning to their parents' custody. It's not the same though, I'm sure. I never get hugged, ever. No bedtime stories, never been tucked in. Of course I've never been spanked either, but I'm not really sure it balances.

This little town, it's not like your town. Trust me. I've been to your town; this isn't it. This town is steeped in history. A horrifyingly bloody battle took place here. Two factions whose names I don't know collided in such a bloodthirsty fashion, the ground has a red color due to the amount of blood spilled. You can't make shit like this up. Well, I could, but it would be better than that. I may try and come up with something right now, since the thought's occurred to me. Beats the hell out of my other option.

My last class of the day is gym. My fellow students think that physical education is attained by doing something physical to me. Flag football? I get tackled. Baseball? Yeah, lot of times getting hit with the ball here. Basketball? Believe it or not, I found out a ball going in the hoop off someone's head is not worth more points. Check the rules. Of course this was a gay complication, mostly. I guess I threatened all the other boys, probably more so the ones in the closet.

So, I skipped gym. A lot. Instead I went where we now meet, you and I, on the little hill that overlooks...or at least comes even with...the school building. I could observe the playing fields from on high, however, and they were playing soccer today. The rewards of ogling the well formed legs of my classmates just wasn't worth the amount of times I'd be stepped on or knocked over.

The hill was crowned with a ruin, and truth be told there had once been a fence around it for preservation, but I think the people who wanted to preserve it realized it was too far gone. Or they ran out of money. All that remained of the structure was a part of a wall, with a gap where a door may have been once. Some flagstones from the interior were on the other side of the wall, and that was about it. The ragged remains of the wall rose to about four feet, but the rest had long since deteriorated to dust.

I let my mind wander, trying to imagine a time long past when feudal lords ran the countryside, when men fought for each square yard of land and every bit of water access. I wonder how you managed a kingdom; surely not by just intimidating the slaves. The military obligations and the safety of the population under your care, trade negotiations, peace treaties. Protecting your subjects. Perhaps a concubine or six.

I walked around the wall, tracing its time-roughened contours with my hand, feeling tiny bits of gritty stone flake away under my touch. If only the stones could report on all that they had seen, the conquests, the sheer living that had gone on all around them. No history class could ever hope to match something that actually lived through those times.

I sat behind the wall so that I was not in view of the school grounds. The gym coach didn't care enough about me to come up here if he saw me, but it made life easier for both of us. He didn't like me in his class, and he never marked me missing. I think that's because if I failed, I'd be in his class again the following year. I crawled across the flagstones to my favorite one. I know, it's sad that I have a favorite rock, but this one was pretty cool. Besides, it's not like I have a dog or something; a pet rock it is.

It wasn't like the other stones, and I think that's why I liked it. Perhaps there's some poetry in that somewhere, identifying myself with a rock that's different from all the other rocks. Of course the downside is...you're a rock. This one was a dark gray and had a green streak running through it, I think it was quartz. I ran my hands over the smooth ancient stone, tracing the green portion, when a loud noise caught my attention.

It wasn't close—it was probably on the field—but its volume had grabbed my attention for a moment. That was only for a moment, however; my body lurched to the side as my hand descended into the earth. The flagstone had dropped down like a switch in a pirate movie or something; perhaps there was buried treasure and I had just stumbled on the switch to open the vault? Oh wait, pirates usually booby trap stuff. I looked at the hole in the flagstones warily; I've seen Indiana Jones.

Inspecting the hole carefully I found no evidence of poison darts being ready to fire into my unsuspecting hand, should I reach down, or of snakes. I hate snakes. I reached down and pushed on the stone again and, to my shock and great interest, it moved about four inches. The sides of the small chamber were smooth; clearly the stone was designed to move. But that's all it was, a small rocky depression in the floor.

Only the gray rock had moved, curiously, not the green streak. I began to feel my way about it, marveling at how pretty it was to see that the green went all the way through the rock, not just a thin line on top or something. I put my fingers on it, top and bottom, and tugged away from the floor, hoping to free the attractive green stone. As I tugged at it, the stone slid into the the gap and revealed the hollow area it was hiding beneath the next flagstone.

I peered into the space now vacated by the green stone to find a hollowed out area in the neighboring stone. I hesitantly reached into the hollow with my heart racing, this was so cool! My hand clasped around something in the gloom and as I tried to withdraw the item it held steadfastly. Well, what do you think I did? I pulled harder, naturally. I felt the object move, and then snap off, which sent me tumbling away from the hole along the remains of the stone floor. I righted myself and found that the object in my hand was a worm eaten piece of wood that looked like the remnants of a handle.

I walked back to the opening and knelt down to look a bit closer. I could see the broken off portion of handle protruding from a circular piece of iron attached to a rod that disappeared into a slot in the stone. I grasped the remaining handle and pulled again. Slowly the handle moved, screeching in protest. A low rumble could be heard and the vibration from beneath my feet was unmistakable. What had I just done? I stared in amazement as the far wall began to vibrate, then move out towards me slowly. How could someone have not found this before?

I saw before me something that could not be. There was now a doorway leading down, a tunnel with stone sides and an arched cut stone ceiling. But as I walked to the side of the doorway, just to double check, there it was. The doorway extended into nothing. As I faced the side of the wall, leaning to my right was the solid exterior, all that remained. If I leaned to the left a passageway that went through the stone wall and down to...well, who really knew?

I glanced at my watch and determined I had about twenty minutes till last bell, which meant I had limited time to do...whatever I was going to do. Nobody was going to believe this! I stepped into the passageway and I waited impatiently for my eyes to adjust, and as I waited the unthinkable happened; I heard a powerful clap as the door swung violently shut behind me and I was trapped in the darkness. Panic set in quickly and I rushed headlong into the door pushing and prodding and finally beating on the stone with my bare hands. Tears borne from a fear of the dark and maybe being entombed in here for the rest of my life sent my heart galloping at a frantic pace.

How could I have not thought of this? How dumb do you have to be to go into a dark hole with no one knowing where you are or that it even exists? This is dumb on an epic scale, like horror movie dumb. If I had an audience they were all probably covering their faces and telling the stupid kid on the screen not to go into the dark hole!

After a few minutes of that I began to realize that it was slowly getting brighter in the corridor. I turned slowly to see where the light was coming from and thinking if there was light, there was an exit. I stepped farther into the musty smelling corridor and slowly made my way forward. The walls were stone, rough to the touch but nowhere near as rough as the stones on the remaining wall somewhere above me, not having been exposed to weather and all that. I felt reassured by the solidity of the wall, that it wouldn't collapse and bury me. Now why did I have to think of that?

The floor had polished stones with smaller ones set down each side as if to frame the center. It sloped down gently, a ramp rather than stairs, and I followed as it slowly turned in a spiral fashion. The source of light was revealed to me as I rounded the curve, a blue light. Well, that wasn't exactly right. It was a blue light, but it was more accurately a blue orb that seemed lit from within. Its light faded, and was immediately picked up by another orb about two feet away. As that one also dimmed, one just beyond it brightened, like they were beckoning me downward.

The orb nearest me lit up again and I had a better opportunity to study it. It sat in an iron cup protruding from the wall and was cool but spongy to the touch. I briefly realized that I had forgotten about the fear of being buried alive, but decided that was a good thing and moved on. I continued to follow the lights as they led me deeper down into the ground, and as I did so I studied my surroundings. The blue orbs were the strangest thing I noticed, but there certainly were other things, like there were no spider webs. If there were no spiders it stood to reason there were no bugs for the spiders to catch, one explaining the absence of the other. I heard no claws clicking, rats or mice or what have you trekking about down here. It was as if the whole thing had been so tightly sealed off from the outside world as to have been inaccessible even to pests.

Another thing that was odd was the deeper I went the odder the sensations my body reported to my brain. It was almost like changing temperatures in water; you get used to one temperature in a lake for example and then, as you swim, you cross a cold eddy in the water. I felt several of these small shifts move through me. No temperatures changes, just an odd feeling of something pressing at me and then passing through. At last I reached the bottom of the ramp.

The ramp had opened into a large rectangular chamber with a domed ceiling which was painted as if it were the open sky. Four pillars held the weight of the earth at bay, capped in gold and their white marble columns shot through with silver filigree. Archways stretched between the pillars with a jewel encrusted keystones flashing with their own light, almost as if one of the blue orbs were trapped inside.

The room was devoid of furnishings, though there were two silver pillars standing inside the rectangle the marble columns created. As I studied the room further I took in the softly glowing orbs, now steady in their glow, scattered about the room on iron cups. I took in the vaulted ceilings and noted the artwork on the walls: dragons and sea nymphs, wizards in dramatic poses. The wall nearest to me showed a series of small hills and atop one was a small party watching a pitched battle going on below them at a walled keep. Fire billowed from the walled courtyard while soldiers battled on horseback and archers let fly from the castle parapets.

I walked the wall, as the painting stretched the entire length of this side of the room, and realized it was too big and too intricate to take in all at once. The flames had been done in mosaic as had the castle walls. The people looked more like a mix of painting – fresco? – and mosaic, with tile chips for eyes. Muddy lanes showed where people and horses had trekked through the mud outside the keep walls, fighting for every last pebble of the land.

Continuing I saw that the keep was actually the center of the mural, and that on a small hill there were a second set of observers to the battle. A man sat upon a charger gazing out over the carnage, and a younger version of him was mounted on a roan stallion by his side. The second horseman was handsome with a rugged, angular face. That’s not what caught my eye and my breath in my chest, however. Beside him was a guy carrying a satchel on his back. He had short brown hair, the most beautiful face I had ever seen, and eyes that were small chips of jade. The face was incredible, not only in the expressiveness but in the unbridled beauty.

His face was the type done by classical sculptors – Bernini would surely have wanted to sculpt that face! High cheekbones and a heart-shaped face that ended in what could never be described as a weak chin. I was mesmerized, and though my eyes roamed to try and take in the rest of his form, which I decided was probably firm and well toned under his tunic and breeches, I kept being pulled back to his beautiful face. Whoever put him here made his face with love. He seemed to be gazing at the carnage with a sad expression, which made me feel…hey, what artwork! This guy is done so well I was actually feeling emotion for him!

After dragging myself from the image that was now burned in my brain – could I ever love so hard that it would show the way that artist must have loved that face? – I continued around the room to at least get a glimpse at the other murals. At the last I ended up in the center of the room next to the silver pillars and began to inspect them. The jade eyes and the face they were set into was still firmly in my head.

They reminded me of a physician's caduceus except that instead of a snake slithering up the staff it was a band of silver. The pillars were set into a circular slab of blue stone, very dark, maybe lapis. Around the edge of the stone disk was writing in a language that I didn't recognize, though the letters were American looking at any rate. I stood on the circle and tried to sound out the words, turning in a circle as I did so in order to see the whole inscription. So weird.

Somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that the room was brighter than it had been a moment ago. I smelled fresh mown hay which wasn't yet in season. I also felt a...a breeze blowing through my hair. I turned to seek out the source of the wind and light and was overwhelmed by the sight between the two pillars.

Between the pillars was a break in the fabric of reality and I was looking into what seemed to be a barn. But that wasn't the strangest part. The weirdest, most breathtaking part about this wasn't a hole in reality but that inside that hole, inside that barn, was the blond haired fellow with the perfect face and the jade in his eyes. I glanced quickly at the art on the wall and then back at the art that was his face, and that was all I could really think. His face was living, breathing art.

He was open mouthed, and I'd imagine mine was as well. Just to be sure I sent an order to my brain to tell my mouth to close if it was open. The barn only existed within the confines of the pillars, and I didn't even have to look right at them to tell that. In the chamber it was lit by the orbs, where this fellow was standing there was daylight. Was this the exit? I closed my mouth, swallowed and opened it again to ask that very question when he dropped his bucket and ran out of my field of view.

I felt the breeze that must have been blowing somewhere beyond my vision, perhaps created by his speedy departure. Unfortunately it carried with it very barn-like smells. My eyes watered with the intensity and then the wind died down suddenly and the relief to my eyes and olfactory senses was immediate. I could hear shouting in the distance and the sound of someone crying out. The noise grew closer and until it sounded as if it was right next to me, there was a sound like a solid punch landing and I saw the guy go flying into my field of vision and then land roughly on the ground about five feet in front of me. A huge man was in pursuit and was closing the distance rapidly. I yelled with out thinking, a strangled battle cry, and his head whipped around with sudden fear.

His eyes grew wide as he caught sight of me and for all his size, fainted dead away. The kid was on his knees looking at me wide eyed and excited, babbling in a fluid silvery tongue that I couldn't understand. I began speaking calmly and evenly, holding my hands out palm up to show I meant no harm.

“It's okay. I can't understand you, slow down,” I gestured with my hands, trying to get the point across to him. My eyes were continually drawn back to his beautiful face; it would haunt my dreams I was sure.

His speech slowed and he stood, coming closer to me to inspect this apparition before him. He was a lot braver than the guy that had done a face plant. I kept smiling, and who wouldn't? He moved with real grace and poise that, despite his fear, was almost regal I would have said if it weren't obvious he was a peasant. He smiled hesitantly, like he was learning to do it for the first time, and I felt my heart melt. Holy cow, I have never seen a smile like that! I felt in awe as he stopped and studied me, shy smile still in place as he tried to gauge me no doubt. I decided to make the first move.

"Aaron," I said, pointing to myself. He looked confused for a moment and I repeated myself. His face lit up with understanding and he pointed at me.

"Aaron." He said. It was my turn to smile. He opened his mouth to speak again.

Without warning the portal dimmed and went blank, showing me the surrounding walls again with their fantastical murals. No! I approached the portal examining it from every angle but try as I might I couldn't see how to start the portal again. I felt the silver pillars that were its outer limits, I studied the floor and the circular area I had stood in, but to no avail.

Giving up, I walked slowly over to the mural on the wall again and studied the young man. It was definitely him, no question. I studied the clear brow and the open honesty of his face. There was maturity in the eyes though; something I never thought could be represented in a painting. Here he was possibly the squire to the men on horseback which went along with what I saw through the portal; he was a stable boy. As I moved down the side of the wall I began to wonder about how I would get out of here. After considerable hunting I came upon a door cleverly concealed as...a door. It was included in a painting on the opposite wall and the only thing that betrayed its presence was the handle protruding from the wall.

I pulled the handle and the door groaned in protest. It opened into a new passageway which I slowly stepped into. It was a combination of earth, stone and wooden supports. The odd root suddenly imposed itself through the wall every few feet, but the flagstones under my shoes were clear enough. As I ascended I felt the odd feeling of flowing through layers of some intangible substance which caused me to shiver involuntarily. I realized that I had reached a dead end. No, wait, there was a door here I think. It was cleverly hidden, unlike the one in the main chamber, which was hiding in plain sight. The door was intricately carved out of granite with a real craftsman's hand.

The door was heavily carved; Ivy that was so lifelike you could almost imagine you saw it shiver in the breeze. I placed my hands on the door; feeling about the craftsmanship when I happened upon a stone leaf which depressed into the surrounding granite foliage. The door ground open in protest and sunlight greeted me. I stepped into the sun, blinking at its intensity. I turned as the sound of the door clapping shut startled me. I was now facing the other side of the wall, opposite the first door. There was no physical way for that whole encounter to have happened!

I glanced at my watch and was shocked to find that only twenty minutes had passed. I walked back to the inside of the ruined tower and retrieved my book bag, and trekked back to the school in time to catch the van back to the group home. As I rode I thought endlessly about the guy in the mural and the desire, no the need, to see him again. What was the language he had spoken that was so fluid and musical? How did the portal work? Could I get it to work again?


Arrival at the home was always a little hectic. The van was noisy and verbal fights with some backseat pushing, pinching and shoving were commonplace over weighty issues like which radio station we'd listen to for the eight minute ride home. Once back at the residence we'd have a snack and be seated around the dining room table for homework. If you said you didn't have any, you got to study. I frequently told staff I had a book to read for English.

After homework hour came a short break and then dinner. Frequently someone would help in dinner's preparation, however unwillingly. Dinner was a weird affair because we were required to eat 'family style' when we were anything but. The only thing we all had in common was shitty home lives, and that wasn't much as bonding material goes. The cooking was pretty crappy too.

After dinner it was 'service hour', which basically was cleaning house. Everyone got assigned a room and you had to vacuum it and dust it. Bathrooms were the worst. I don't know what it was, but no matter what you did those bathrooms never smelled clean. You could get dazed if you inhaled too much of the fumes from the cleaning can. Some guys volunteered so they could do just that. I was assigned the living room, and that was all right, I guess. I vacuumed and wiped down the television and the windows. There were two small tables with lamps to be cleaned and furniture to straighten. Weekend cleanings were the only time we'd move furniture so the room didn't take too long; every minute dragged though. I was dying to sign out to the library and do some research.

Finally finished and allowed to go, I signed the log book detailing where I would be and departed. Autumn air breezed through the branches and my hair, the sun having sunk below the horizon still shot crimson streaks from behind the horizon. I entered the brick structure, which had at one time been a railroad stop, but now housed a growing collection of books for this small village straining to become a town. My goal was a reference or historical archive with details on the town's early years, and the keep in general.

I approached the librarian's desk and found an ancient man behind the counter in a large cardigan sweater, leaning to one side snoring loudly. He and I seemed to be the library's only occupants. I cleared my throat by way of trying to wake him politely. He inhaled and then snored loudly in response, breath ruffling the billows of hair that were created by his mustache which, for its size, could easily have been a small woodland creature that had simply died on his upper lip. Another large inhalation and wall-shaking exhalation. I decided to look without help.

I wandered until I spotted a sign for the reference section and began looking for indications of the library's village history. After hunting for about ten minutes I stumbled on the leading edge of the 'Local History' section. I was dismayed at the amount of information available, there were literally millions of pages here, what the hell was so interesting about this area that you'd write so many goddamn books about it? Not only that, I had imagined that I'd walk right up and find exactly the information I was looking for. Not, you know, actually having to work for it.

I traced my hands over the spines of the books as I scanned for a title that might indicate something about the town's medieval period. Many of the books were about the wildlife in the area, the pioneers that had settled and the geography. Who cares? I need keeps and castles not covered wagons! Anyway, I was getting frustrated and after about twenty minutes of fruitless searching I decided to head back in the direction of the snoring. I approached the old party none too silently as I figured he'd probably sleep through a thrash metal concert, and tried to politely wake him. I cleared my throat again; I spoke lowly so as not to jar him awake; I tried everything polite. Nothing doing, so I grabbed a reference tome on the wall behind me and brought it back with me. I accidentally dropped it flat on the floor.

He abruptly came back to life sitting up rapidly in his squeaky chair. "Ah, oh! Yes, yes can I help you? Seem to have drifted off there, real quiet here you know. Too quiet for me, I just drift off, light sleeper though, yes sir wake at the drop of a pin I do." He rattled on.

"I would like to find out a few things about this area's history, specifically medieval time periods."

"Oh, well we have a few on that era, anything in particular you'd like to concentrate on in that time?" He blew out on his bushy moustache.

"Actually, yes. I'd like to concentrate on anything to do with the old castle up behind the high school."

"Oh? You mean Asmodean's Keep do you? Well we have some information on it; it's a bit sketchy though. Did quite a bit of research on it myself you know."

"Really? Who is Asmodean?" I asked excitedly.

"Well yes, quite a bit of research actually. There's quite the legend about it, you see,” He leaned back and began to polish his spectacles. “The Keep was here before the tribes occupied these lands, according to their legends. They say that the Keep is a portal through time itself, the very fabric between worlds. The legends say the Keep was built by a warlord by the name of Colle. Unfortunately he was a better attacker than defender and the Keep fell shortly after it was built. The Demetrallian's who ruled for some time in this area captured it. They had built a castle wall and fortified defenses around the Keep making it much harder to take. About three years after the completion of the outer walls war descended on the region again."

He paused to wipe his glasses on his shirt and blow his mustache out again.

"The Orundians swept out of the east, and let me tell you what made that so interesting is that the Demetralli and Orundians were different factions of the same empire. In fact the High Lord encouraged infighting in order to keep the soldiers on their toes for expansion and to limit his expenses when border skirmishes with neighboring empires broke out." He paused in his narration as if to collect his thoughts. “Course it kept anyone from getting too big for their britches, I'd wager.

"Turns out the leaders of the Demetralli and Orundians were brothers, and bitter rivals. The Orundians captured the Keep and held it because they threatened the life of a very important person, the Crown Prince Roland who had been at the Keep at the time of its capture. Now while Roland was alive it held the Demetralli back, because they knew he'd never live through an attack. The Orundians would kill him. So having him alive guaranteed their retaining the Keep. However Orund, the leader of the Orundians, wanted more than anything to break his brother's spirit, and so word reached Demetral that his son had been murdered most horribly."

I stared in fascination at this fossil as the story unfolded. "How did he die?" I squeaked.

"They cut off the arms and legs and then cauterized the wounds, and let him die of shock. It was called the living death."

I thought of that boy having this horrible fate befall him and shuddered.

"The interesting part is that there was never any proof that Roland died. Rumor persisted that he had escaped, and that is where the name Asmodean comes in.

"Asmodean was the King's Champion, a wizard of legendary proportions. Some say that Asmodean created a shelf or a room outside time and has hidden Roland and himself where Orund could not reach. And so it was rumored that one day someone would unlock the secret of Asmodean's Keep and release the Crown Prince and his loyal protector, Asmodean. Magic, it seems, was a funny thing even then. They say that Asmodean had no real time to prepare, such was the speed and ferocity of Orund's attack, and so the spell was incomplete. It requires someone to unlock it, to complete the spell."

"What is the key to completing the spell?" I asked. "What happened to the Demetralli?" I asked.

"Demetral was crushed at the news of his son's death and went mad with grief, he stormed the walls of the Keep and slaughtered all the occupants before dying of a broken heart later that year. Very sad really. And to think he had the very tools to release his son if he but knew."

"And what tools were they?" I asked

"Simple really. Love for Roland will unlock the portal and release them from their hiding place. Only someone that loved can be safe enough, you see. But of course this is all just legend, tribal legend. None of this has any hard evidence.”


I rolled the story back and forth in my head as I walked through the quiet streets on my way to the home. As I entered I was checked for cigarettes and other stuff, but only a cursory inspection, as I had never been into contraband of any sort. I headed up to my room, which I shared with Keir. I really felt sorry for that guy.

Everyone here had a story, most had really crappy parents. Some were too stupid to realize that their parents had fucked them up and that their only hope was to realize this and make changes in themselves. Most never got that though. Keir's dad had abused him and his mother had been ruled incompetent to manage him, so the state had stepped in and taken custody of him, and promptly placed him in St. Sylvan's. He got in trouble quickly enough once he got here. Michael Talley had been his first roommate and he had bullied Keir endlessly, made him carry his cigarettes and stuff so that if they were ever found it'd go against Keir and not him. I had gone to the staff and asked to switch roommates since my old roommate Jason was big enough to fend off anything Michael might try, and besides, Keir was kinda cute. I mean cool. Anyway, I walked in and settled down on my bed to take my shoes off when Michael came in the room and shut the door. He gave me a threatening look and then proceeded to Keir, holding an object out to him.

"Hide this you little fuck, or I'll kill you." He said in a haggard half whisper. His face showed tension and fear and that was dangerous. It was a knife and it seemed to have blood on it. Keir's eyes popped and he backed away from the knife. Michael leaned in threatening with the blade.

"I said...hide it before I use it on you." He then slapped Keir across the face with his unoccupied hand and Keir grabbed the knife, placing it under his mattress. Michael nodded and told him to keep it hidden until he asked for it again, and then he left the room.

Everything changed then. Keir was almost in hysterics and I really couldn't blame him. I was scared too, but I knew Keir would never report Michael out of fear for what would happen to him after. Too many times Michael had survived something that should have gotten him tossed out of this place and into a pre-pen where he belonged.

“Aaron, what am I gonna do? There was blood on that knife!” Keir whispered. His voice shook with terror and a shiver raced involuntarily down my spine. I'd like to say I had a sudden stiffening of my spine and hardening of my resolve, but for the next few hours my stomach was quivering and my backbone had less stiffness than your average bowl of Jello.

“I know, I saw,” I told him. I thought furiously. That space between the pillars that had showed me the scene of the barn, I wonder if that could be the portal referred to in the tribal legend the librarian mentioned? If it was, could we go through it?

I immediately began devising a plan to get us out of trouble for at least as long as it would take for Michael to be dealt with by someone in authority. Michael had obviously gotten into something way too big and was going to stick Keir with it under the threat of killing him. And you know what? I didn't have anyone and neither did Keir so...

I put an arm around him and he simply trembled, I don't even think he felt my arm. I just sat with him till he relaxed the tiniest bit; and I let my plan percolate. We would vanish, through the portal. I explained to him, though I'm not sure it was necessary, that Michael would just be too unpredictable in that situation. So after lights out I snuck down to the kitchen and swiped some canned goods, a can opener and some noodles figuring that they'd be easy to make if nothing else. I set my pack on the back stairs and returned to my room. I wrote a note to the overnight staff, a nice guy that I trusted, detailing all we knew. I then grabbed a few changes of clothes for both of us and roused Keir.

He blinked at me owlishly. I explained to him that I thought it would be best if we pulled our vanishing act that night, before Michael had a chance to ruin our plan and he agreed. He got dressed quietly and we headed down the rear flight of stairs into the kitchen and silently out the back door after depositing the envelope on the kitchen counter.

We headed out to the front of the house over to Scott, the overnight staff member's, car. He had proudly told me once that he kept a nine-millimeter pistol in his car for emergencies, and I had actually seen it. Of course I was told about it for three reasons. One, I wouldn't say anything. Two, I'd never take it. And three, Scott wanted to impress someone. Well, I broke reason two as I opened the door and reached under the seat.

"What are you doing?" Keir whispered behind me.

"Uh, Scott keeps some change under the seat, dude. Just borrowing some," I lied.

"Oh, good thinking," he replied nervously. Poor Keir. I was the only one he trusted, and I just lied to him. Well, if I had told him I was reaching for a gun he'd have freaked. Success! I found the gun in its holster and extracted it, with one clip in the slot. I checked the safety, blocking Keir's view of the pistol with my body, and then tucked it into the waistband of my pants.

We walked in silence for about ten minutes, heading towards the school, the moon providing enough light for us to make our way on these unlit small town roads.

"Aaron, I.."Keir began.

"What's up, Keir?" I asked him.

"I just wanted to say thank you. I know everyone thinks I'm a pussy cause I take all of Michael's shit, but he'd kill me. I really think he would, and he's a lot stronger than I am and...well...I just wanted to say thanks for never...never putting me down," he finished uncertainly.

"S'ok, Keir. We pussies have to stick together y'know." I smiled, and he returned my smile, dimples small shadows on his face in the moonlight.

"So, um, where are we going to go anyway?" he asked hesitantly.

"Someplace special," I said noncommittally. We walked in silence and approached the school, curving around it to approach the Keep.

"Fucking stop, right there you assholes!" Michael yelled from behind us. How the hell did he get here? I went on autopilot.

"Run!" I yelled to Keir and grabbed his sleeve to spur him on. We got to the Keep's ruined tower and I pulled the gun out from my waistband. In one swift motion I had spun on my heel and aimed the gun in Michael's direction.

"Freeze asshole!" I screamed. "Don't fuck with me. I'll do it!"

Michael pulled up short at the glint of metal in the moonlight. He didn't look happy, but he did stop. I nudged Keir out of view and then knelt down out of Michael's sight.

"Go back to the house and get rid of the knife, Michael. We don't have it. Just don't come any closer or I'll shoot." I had knelt down and he was out of my sight, and I was out of his as well. I searched for the chipped flagstone frantically. I heard his approaching footsteps, cautious but hardly undetectable on the gravel.

At last! The stone moved and the doorway swung open filled with the same faint glow I had noticed before. I pushed Keir at the door, and he pulled our packs with him. I was heading for the door when Michael struck me from behind and we began to struggle. I heard the safety switch click to the off position and then a deafening crack as the gun went off. Michael yelled in surprise and ducked away from me, and as he did I lost my grip on the pistol, which hit the flagstone, dry fired and then skittered to a stop. I had to make a choice: get through the door without the gun, or get the gun and then try to open he door again. I didn't think Michael would let me work in peace to open the door, and besides the gun had dry fired so maybe it only had one good round in it? I broke for the door and the safety of the soft glowing light in the passageway. The door was closing and all of a sudden I was falling, tripped. The door was only inches from me and closing, I reached for the gun in a fake, and he went for it, beating me to the gun.

When he turned around there was no one to aim the gun at.

Next Chapter