Martyn McGrath

Chapter 1

Eyes

---

The sun swept over the rugged beauty of Amun Hills Golf and Country Club, highlighting the rich green of its fairways, sending dappled spotlights through the oak trees that stood proudly on its grounds. Now and then, a large blue-grey cloud would drag its shadow across the landscape, the momentary reprieve it offered much appreciated by the golfers and workers below.

Alec Breen glanced dully at his feet, noting how the morning’s dew had soaked past the soles of his shoes and was working up into the grimy mesh fabric. Only eight in the morning and already it was over eighty degrees out, probably higher when you factored in the humidity. He felt like a zombie. Wet and sweaty already, and three hours to go ‘til his shift ended.

He gave a sigh and bent over heavily, reaching for the broken tees that littered the grass between the markers.

Having a job wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

He remembered when he’d first applied at Amun Hills and the excitement he’d felt, even if he’d been careful not to show it to anyone. He’d lived his whole life next to the golf course and had long hoped to get a job there. As a child, however, he hadn’t spared a thought for how boring it might be.

Or how uncomfortable. He’d decided within the first week or so that Tim Cobbler was an odd fellow for a boss. Tall and lanky and no longer young, Tim had looked him in the eye with something bordering on sadness before shaking his hand and giving him the job.

At times, Alec wished he hadn’t. Tim didn’t trust him, he knew, and it didn’t seem like he could do much to earn the man’s respect. Merit, the fourteen year-old figured, had had nothing to do with his hire. Instead, it seemed that Tim had hired him out of pity. And that, of course, colored this whole working thing with a bitter tang.

Alec brushed the wet strands of hair from his forehead, fingers also slicking away the sweat that had beaded there.

Tee box by tee box, he’d go through the course every morning, prepping it for the first golfers of the day. He was small and young so Tim didn’t feel comfortable having him do much else. Sometimes he’d empty the garbage bins as he went, sometimes he’d fix the bunkers, or straighten the cart ropes, but generally it was the same thing, day after day after day, Monday through Saturday.

He’d started in late May when he’d gotten out of school and it was August now. His brain felt numb.

“Of course, your other option is being at home right now, Alec,” he reminded himself. “You probably don’t know how good you’ve got it.”

And really, that was this job’s saving grace. Cleaning and prepping Amun Hills might be brainless labor, but it meant he wasn’t at home.

As Alec hopped into his maintenance cart, and putted on down the fairway, he took a deep breath and looked around. Amun Hills was a rugged, breath-taking course, not overwhelming and yet captivatingly beautiful. Built on the old gypsum mines, it was a landscape that was comfortable with itself, strands and copses of trees scattered here and there, splashes of green vegetation that stood out in eye-catching contrast with the golden, grassy scrub that decorated the slopes. Part of the country club’s appeal was that it didn’t try too hard to be something it wasn’t. Never would it be confused for the regal prestige of the St. Andrews or Augustas of the world, but it held a charm all its own that just felt right.

He almost wanted to smile. This was his favorite part of the job – zooming between tee boxes and taking in the beauty of the golf course. The weather might be hot and sweaty and he could be coming off the worst of nights, but Amun Hills was usually a pleasant reminder that there were many good things in life too. He wondered how Gwen was doing.

The almost-smile faded.

Sometimes even Amun Hills couldn’t distract him from reality.

As he bumped back up onto the asphalt cart path, the young teenager’s face darkened, eyebrows lowering as his focus drifted away from the splendid scene around him, and unhappy thoughts settled into his mind.

---

Travis Mosley shook his head, unwilling to let it go.

“I tell ya, Tim, there’s something ain’t right with that boy! I have boys of my own, not one of them is that kind of scared.”

They were sitting at a table in the maintenance shop, having a coffee between jobs.

Timothy Cobbler looked into his mug one more time, not at all disagreeing with his friend, but not willing to get too worked up either. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation and he wasn’t sure what Travis wanted him to do.

“I’ve half a mind,” Travis was saying, “to sit him down and see what’s going on in his life.”

“I know what you mean about that,” Tim nodded, rubbing his face, “but I don’t think that’s likely to do too much. I’ve tried – you have to want help, and I don’t think he trusts anyone enough to want their help.”

Travis kept on shaking his head, frustrated and upset. “It’s just not right. Not right that a kid that young is so bitter and dark. And so afraid! You seen his face Tim, when you drive by? His eyes get all round, like a… like a little lamb, like you coming to hit’em.”

He stopped and scratched his elbow, deep in thought. “But I do know what you mean about trust. He don’t seem to trust no one. No one. You know his family, right Tim? What they like?”

Tim took a deep breath, pursing his lips. Travis didn’t live in the area so of course he wouldn’t know about the Breens.

Walker was a small place, one of a number of small towns in West Michigan that kind of blended into each other, but it wasn’t so small that everyone knew everyone. That, however, was not the case for the neighborhood directly surrounding Amun Hills; O’Brien met Covell and Covell met Fulton, and within their boundaries there were few secrets.

The cloistered, cramped feeling of the neighbourhood was why Tim had chosen to move further to the west, nearer the big lake. It wasn’t good to know too much about your neighbors. Most people knew, for instance, that the Breens lived on Covell, backing onto the golf course. It was common knowledge the things that went on there.

“Not a happy story there, Travis,” he replied finally. “I’m a golf course superintendent, not a psychiatrist, so I don’t try my hand at diagnosing too many mental issues. But suffice it to say, there is no doubt in my mind that that boy is traumatized by his parents. Especially Tanner, his dad.”

He looked up, unknowingly gazing off towards the northeast where the Breens lived. “Tanner was always an angry sort; I was his football coach so I’d know a little bit about that. The girls always liked him – most of them don’t know the bullet they dodged when he chose Chelsea. They dated, got married, had one kid, then separated for a while. They got back together a couple years ago, saying Tanner had changed, and had another kid, a girl, I think.

“But I’m a fool if I’ll believe Tanner’s a better man now. More likely Chelsea couldn’t handle the shame of their separation and let him back.”

“So he’s a kid beater, huh?” Travis spat. “Beat his wife too?”

“No one knows for sure, or else you can bet the police would be involved,” Tim explained, hands spread wide. “Chelsea always denies it, even though you can hear the cussing and the yelling and the crying from a mile away. Personally, I never saw any marks on the girl, though I haven’t seen her that often. She’s broken, I think. Hardly leaves the house and when she does, she looks a mess.”

Travis breathed a deep sigh. “That’s awful, Tim.”

Tim nodded. “One of the saddest things I ever saw was that girl in the grocery store, hair all over the place, eyes red from all the tears. When Alec came and asked for a job, I said yes, hoping it would give them a little happiness. But I think they need a lot more than that, in the end. Don’t know where it’ll come from though.”

Travis was nodding sagely, dark arms folded. “Well, I think I’ll keep an eye on that boy. Check in on him now and then, see how he’s doing. Maybe, with a little time and friendship he can come around, hey? Build some trust?”

Tim stood up, pushing his chair back as he did. “If you want to take that on, Travis, that’s up to you. It ain’t going to be easy though. You might end up doing more harm than good.” He pulled open the door.

“Alec’s not an easy one to warm up to.”

---

What was it like to be normal?

He’d been wondering that quite a bit recently. He had friends from school – Jayce Hekstra, Cory Ondersma, Gordie Houweling. They all came from normal families, with lots of brothers and sisters, and parents that seemed normal.

Normal seemed to equal happy.

But maybe normal wasn’t quite the right word, because Jayce was anything but normal and his family was really odd but they still seemed happy.

“Maybe stable?” Alec muttered to himself, musing.

Yeah, that was probably it. Stable.

What was that like?

The other night he’d watched a documentary about a fisherman in Alaska who was thrown from his ship. They’d managed to get a rubber dinghy in the water after him, one of those round emergency ones, but the waves and weather got so violent that fisherman and ship were separated. After the storm passed, the man was adrift for 8 days. He had to make it on his own, with no food and only some emergency rations of water. He survived but was shaken by the experience for the rest of his life.

Most of the documentary had focused on the survivor’s torturous brush with starvation, but Alec remembered one scene especially.

Somehow they’d put a camera down where the man had been, among the waves, bobbing in a dinghy during a storm.

In seemingly every direction was a heaving, churning, towering wall of water, swelling up and down angrily. It was an incredible glimpse into what the sailor must have experienced. Some waves were the height of skyscrapers! Should any one of them crest and break, the man would have died, with no one there to help him or even witness his end.

Unknown to all, his dinghy would capsize and he’d be buried under a tumbling, crashing, Bering Sea monolith.

There was very little in the man’s story that Alec could personally relate to, but when he imagined that scenario and what must have gone through the man’s desperate, fearful mind he couldn’t shake the feeling that it seemed disturbingly familiar.

Dumping the splinters of wood he’d picked up into the back of his cart, he hopped back in and made his way to the next hole, keeping an eye out for fallen branches and other debris. This stretch, from Hole #12 to Hole #13, always seemed to have something that needed to be cleaned up.

“Hey, Alec! Wait up!” a friendly voice called, loudly in order to be heard over the putt-putting of his golf cart. He looked up to find Travis, an older worker who’d been at Amun Hills for fifteen years, driving towards him in a cart of his own. Travis’ black face was filled with a wide smile that looked more than a little forced.

Alec wasn’t enthused. He’d wait till the man spoke, but he could feel himself tensing up.

“Hi, Travis.”

Travis looked at him as if watching for something. “Uh, how you doin’ this morning?” he asked.

“Good,” Alec responded, face blank. The following silence was awkward, but he didn’t mind. “Why?”

A flicker of a frown crossed Travis’ face. “Just wondering. You seemed a little down. I, uh, thought maybe something was up.”

The teenager waited, allowing silence to settle between them again. Why was it always like this? “Nope. Doing good.” His voice was even, flat.

Travis didn’t seem to do well with silence. Pulling off his ball cap, he wiped his forehead. “Well, not tryin’ to be nosy, just… if you find you’d like to talk to someone, about anything, I’d be ready to listen.”

Alec rested a forearm on his steering wheel and nodded. “Kay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

That seemed to satisfy the man. “Alright… you, uh, have a good one then. See ya ‘round.”

He paused, waiting for a response in kind, but Alec was already driving down the fairway.

---

As he rounded the bend from the green to the tees on Hole #13, Alec shook his head.

That was weird.

But, strangely, not that far from the norm.

It went back to his family. Almost everyone had heard the rumours; the Breens were dysfunctional, a mess, a disaster in the making. Tanner Breen was a wife-beater, a child-beater, and an alcoholic.

As far as Alec knew, only one of those rumors about his father was true. The others were just gossip, people talking about things they didn’t know. His dad had never beaten Alec or his mother. He yelled plenty and he was definitely a drunk, but it had never come to violence. So those rumors were wrong.

But that didn’t mean everything was okay either.

They seemed to hate each other. His mom and dad. Not a day went by that they weren’t yelling or fighting about something. Most of their arguments he didn’t understand and didn’t really want to. Most of the time he’d take care of Gwen and wait for them to run out of words to hurt each other with.

It was like living under a storm cloud, waiting for it to break open and thunder and shake and destroy, never being able to relax and live normally, always running around covering furniture and plants and wondering how much damage the storm would do when it finally exploded.

He laughed to himself. Stability. What would that even look like?

Stepping out of his cart, he climbed to the top of the tee to move the markers, but when he bent over to pick one up, he felt something odd. At first, he ignored it, as the sensation barely brushed across his consciousness.

But when he reached for the second marker, the feeling came again, resting in between his shoulder blades at the base of his neck, like an unwelcome spider.

He was being watched.

He stood bolt upright, looking behind him, expecting to find Tim or some golfers. There was no one there, nothing but the thick vegetation of a forested area that separated the hole he was on from the next one over.

But the feeling didn’t go away. In fact, it strengthened into a suspicious yet certain resolve.

He peered into the woods tentatively. Was someone in there?

He craned his neck, trying to worm his eyes past the heavy screen of greenery into the shadows beyond. While he searched, he began to realize that, past its initial wall of growth, this particular forest seemed thicker, deeper than the other ones on the course. He couldn’t see through to the other side; instead, he could see only still deeper shadow.

As his eyes delved into the darkness, doubt wriggled in his mind, like the feeling one gets when standing on the edge of a high cliff and peering cautiously over. He shivered.

It was so dark – anything could be in there and he wouldn’t know it. He began to wonder if perhaps he should get in his cart and drive away.

But as fear grew in his mind so too did curiosity, and he remained there, rooted to the spot, standing, staring. The shadows seemed to swirl, morphing this way and that, shifting into different sizes and shapes, teasing his questioning mind. His eyes began to sting and water, but just then something seemed to resolve in the darkness.

Two glinting orbs, set closely together at the same height, gathering and reflecting what little light was able to pierce the gloom.

Eyes.

His heart dropped in shock and he felt the beginnings of panic set in. Still the reflections remained steady, trained on him, unblinking.

Alec lifted a hand to his forehead and rubbed his eyes quickly, but nothing changed.

He was rattled, he could tell, knees trembling, hands shaking. He began to try to convince himself of what the eyes really were: a humidity gauge nailed to a tree, an old metal spike perhaps, a couple of old rusty nails. A bird feeder?

Each thought came and went, quickly discarded as wishful thinking.

He became aware that his breath was becoming raspy, rattling a little in his chest, but he didn’t care.

Go away, he thought, whatever you are, just go away. Alec squeezed his eyelids shut, hoping.

After counting to twenty, he opened them again cautiously. He scanned the area carefully for a minute, then another, before finally heaving an unrestrained sigh of relief.

The shimmering orbs were gone, melted away into the shadows.

 

Chapter Two

Discovery

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It had become a way of life.

Wake up, work, go home, play with Gwen upstairs, ignore whatever went on downstairs. Wait for calm, go down and eat supper, then back upstairs. Help Gwen settle in for the night, think for a while, go to sleep.

Repeat.

Right now Alec was in the latter stages of the routine. Gwen had been overjoyed to see him when he got home, and he’d entertained her for hours with a wide array of the little toys she’d received already in her short life.

He wondered if she knew what went on between Mom and Dad, if she was able to understand even a little bit of the yelling that had resumed beneath them.

As if in response, Gwen burbled happily, swinging a teddy bear with wild abandon as a strand of drool dripped from her chin to her lap.

He grinned. Guess not.

“They say ignorance is bliss, Gwen,” he said. She blew a bubble of agreement.

He looked around wistfully at the large room where they spent most of their time together. He supposed he should be thankful for it; it was quite spacious and pleasantly arranged, with big windows that let in cheery amounts of daylight. His bed lay under them, across the room from Gwen’s crib, and they had a wide space of open carpet between them, now strewn about with toddler toys. A bookshelf here and there along the walls, a toy-box, and some decorations gave the place an almost magazine-worthy look.

A glance outside told him that Gwen’s bedtime was nearing, a fact confirmed by her long, satisfied yawn of contentment.

She was a good kid, he knew, and if there was any positive to his parents’ fighting, it was the bond he’d developed with his sister.

Slipping out to the bathroom quickly, he pressed a little bead of toothpaste onto her brush for her to suck on. He’d never really understood why they bothered having her “brush” her teeth, but hey – maybe it was the start of a good habit. She seemed to like it and it put her in a good mood before bed.

By the looks of it, Gwen was more than ready for sleep; dropping her toothbrush on the bathroom floor, she rubbed her eyes and held up her arms, signalling her tiredness. With a heave, he hauled her up and carried her back to their room, laying her in her crib before saying her prayer with her.

Within minutes, her eyes were closed and she was drifting away.

He watched for a moment, making sure she settled into the deep, easy breathing of sleep, noting idly how the setting sun set a golden halo into her head of blonde, wispy hair. She’d taken after their mom, fair and pretty.

Alec, on the other hand, resembled both of his parents. A thick head of sandy hair from his father, the grey-blue eyes of his mother. Short like mom, compact like dad. Like both of them, and at the same time, like neither.

Sitting down on his bed, he looked out the great windows towards their backyard and beyond to Amun Hills, which sprawled out like a rolling, hilly, emerald sea. The evening was especially beautiful, the sky painted with a sweeping golden hue, harmless billowing clouds limned with light, like great puffy ships drifting on the idle summer blue.

Alec was enthralled. For a blessed, quiet moment, he let himself drift with the clouds, breathing in the stillness of the season, watching the ever-shifting grace of the heavenscape.

But as the minutes passed, an uncomfortable thought burrowed its way into the silence.

He was alone. And it didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t that he minded being alone from time to time; in fact, he often preferred it.

But alone in this way, day after day, in his own home, in his own family. Alone at work, alone at home, alone in life.

As he sat there, eyes searching the sky thoughtfully, he knew that something was wrong with his life. It was a small thought at first, but a deep one, and as he considered his world he knew with increasing certainty that it was true.

He’d faced the thought before, and usually he was able to look the other way, throw his thoughts elsewhere, lose himself in some activity or another. But right now, he couldn’t shrug away from its weight. The fact bore down on him relentlessly, pinning him where he was until he recognized its truth.

This was his existence. Alone.

He fought it, but knew he couldn’t win. It became too much, and the knowledge of his loneliness gave way to something worse.

A wave of sadness — frustrated, hopeless sadness – washed over him, tugging him down, pulling on his heart.

But why? he asked himself. What am I supposed to do?

It was as though a pit opened up in the bottom of his soul, dropping the floor out from under everything that held up his happiness and joy. An ache settled into the bottom of his throat and gripped his chest, pushing him to do what he hated most. But he couldn’t help it.

His eyes were welling with tears, he knew. One by one they dripped out, sliding down his cheeks, tickling his nostrils with briny, mocking fingers. He resisted, determined not to cry, hating every tear, staring straight out at the clouds, trying to will himself back to happiness.

In the end, he couldn’t. Dropping his head to his arms where they rested on the window sill, he let go and wept, sobs soon shaking his body.

The minutes stretched out as the sun sunk into the western horizon, and still his tears flowed. It seemed to help a little, as if the little salty drops filled up some sorrowful void and made him feel less hopeless.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but when he finally ran out of tears and his throat seemed swollen and raw, he lifted his head and found that the sun had sunk into its bed. Night was near, its coming seen in the shadows that draped the treeline, but for now a peach glow still clung to the sky, a memory of hope.

Alec’s gaze dropped then, from the sky, to the slopes of Amun Hills, to his own backyard, which he looked at with some small measure of satisfaction, scrubbing his face dry with a corner of his bed’s coverlet. His problems still remained but the new line of thought was a welcome distraction.

He’d done his best to keep the yard well maintained, thanks to some of the tips he’d picked up from the workers at Amun Hills. He’d scythed through the tall grasses at the back to create a path leading to the course, which he used on his way to and from work. He mowed the lawn twice a week, dodging around various items – a swing set, a sandbox, a birdbath – and striving to keep a straight line. He even had a direction rotation, to give the lawn a nice diamond-hatching pattern.

He frowned. There was a space between the sandbox and the swing set which was supposed to be open, with no obstacle or ornament. It was about 12 yards square of lush green grass, but currently there looked to be something standing in the middle of it. In the failing light, he could see only its shadowed form and the most basic of details.

He cocked his head to the side and tried to figure out what it was, happy to brush aside his loneliness. Had mom gotten a statue recently? A boulder?

It looked like it might reach up to his hip, but it was wide enough that it seemed squat. The top had a rounded look to it, as though the whole thing was roughly cylindrical.

Oddly, Alec felt a pull, a sudden desire to go outside and take a look. He couldn’t tell where it came from but he was sick of sitting in his room, and he had plenty of time before he had to go to bed. Quietly, he tiptoed away, closing the door gently behind him, and creeping downstairs. He wasn’t sure why, but something told him he should avoid his parents if at all possible.

The back door pulled to with a muffled click and he padded quietly out into the yard. He’d managed to get a pair of shoes on, to go with his light hoodie and jeans. The nights were getting cooler this time of year; hot during the day but chilly soon after the sun went down.

A light dew had sprung up already on the grass, but he didn’t notice, eyes trained instead on the odd shape he’d come out to look at. It was still where it had been when he looked from his window, motionless, quiet. As he drew near, his curiosity only climbed, for it was obviously not a statue, nor a boulder.

It was… something else.

Beyond the shape it seemed to Alec that something waved lazily through the air – a tail?

“You should be afraid, Alec,” he murmured under his breath. “Really afraid. What’s going on?”

Without warning, the top of the shape shifted, a quick shaking movement like someone wagging their head, and two eyes blinked open, each about the size of Alec’s fist. He froze, shock widening his gaze and hammering through his heart.

“He… Hello?” he murmured nervously. “Are you… what are you doing here?”

The creature didn’t answer, blinking instead, one eye lazily trailing the other. Something drew Alec onward. Shaking, he took another step and more of the creature’s features became clear.

It looked like a massive, squat owl of some kind, eyes bright and wide and huge, peering at him coolly with light green luminescence. It looked brown – it was hard to tell in the light – but it definitely had feathers: they were ruffling in the slight breeze that drifted across the yard. Its wings were tucked at its sides as it studied him.

Surprised at his own lack of fear, Alec stepped closer and peered past the creature.

“Yes, boy,” a raspy voice said dryly, “I have a tail.”

“Ack!” Alec squawked in surprise, stumbling back and falling on his bottom. It could talk!

“You… you can speak?!” he wheezed.

The owl thing blinked, cocking its head sideways and staring at him as though he were crazy. “Of course I can speak. And from the sounds of it, quite a lot better than you. Do you do anything other than squealing and squeaking, human?”

Struggling to his feet, Alec searched for a reply.

“Honestly,” the thing continued, “I don’t see what Caradoc wants with you.”

“What do you mean?” Alec stammered.

“I’ve been sitting in your yard for a couple of hours now and between you and your parents…” it paused, a taunting glint entering its eyes, “I’m not particularly impressed.”

Alec’s head shot up at the jab. “Hey!” he protested angrily, “Is that what they do where you’re from? Just show up and start throwing insults at people?”

The owl thing opened its beak and laughed, a harsh clacking noise deep in its throat. Spreading its wings it began to stroke them in slow, powerful circles. It seemed odd to see such a large bird lift into flight, but, buffeted by its wind, Alec could understand how. As it rose up into the air, tail darting here and there, the creature called down to him challengingly.

“Why don’t you come and find out, boy? Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two – do try to keep up!”

With that, it set out towards the golf course, soaring over the green and down the fairway of Hole #13.

Alec spared a quick glance back at his house, wondering whether or not he should tell his parents. As he thought about it, however, he heard their yelling start anew, the beginning of another argument. Angry, he shook his head and turned his back to them, squaring his shoulders determinedly.

They probably wouldn’t even know he was gone.

Catching sight of the strange creature, he took off in pursuit.

 

Chapter 3

The Arthian’s Oath

---

While Alec ran, he noticed that the grass had already grown slick, dew rising as the temperatures dropped. Oddly, a mist had begun to roll up from the earth as soon as Alec had left his parents’ yard, roiling as if out of the ground itself. It pooled in the swales at the bottom of the hills, but he plunged through.

He had to keep up. The owl creature was moving quickly, more quickly than Alec had thought possible when he first realized it was some kind of bird.

There was a certain aggressive power to the curve of its wings and how they cut through the air. He was reminded of the hawks that spiralled over the golf course, hunting for mice.

He missed a step as he considered that, knowing he should be more frightened than he was.

What are you doing, Alec? his mind screamed at him. You don’t even know what this thing is! It’s a talking bird, for crying out loud! With a tail!

But that was just it.

The whole thing was so crazy, so out-of-this-world weird that he had to see what was happening. If he left now, he almost wouldn’t believe that any of it had taken place.

Besides, he thought with a grin, this is kind of fun. It felt good to get out of the house and run, like he was breaking away from some dread that gripped his mind.

He felt free.

He watched while up ahead the owl thing spread out its talons and flared its wings, gracefully landing in a large maple near the tee boxes. Alec quirked an eyebrow and shivered, remembering the eyes glinting in the shadows.

Slowing down as he approached the maple, he was greeted by a buzzing chorus of cicadas. He scanned the forest quickly, realizing that in his fear earlier that day he had missed many of its beautiful details. Oaks, maples, and elms filled the area densely, each one clad in a robe of climbing, swirling ivy. Ivy filled the underbrush as well, interspersed with ferns and bushes and shrubs, all blending together to create a seemingly impenetrable wall of luscious green.

He turned to the bird.

“Alright, I followed you. But this can’t be where you’re from – I’ve never seen you before.”

The bird seemed to ignore him, combing its beak through its chest feathers nonchalantly.

Alec folded his arms, peering up at the creature.

“Hey! I did what you wanted! What do you want with me?”

Annoyed by the bird’s attitude, a thought came to Alec and he bent over to pick up a nearby stone. Tossing it from hand to hand, he set his jaw and glared meaningfully up at the owl thing.

It paused, ceasing with its preening for a moment, then blinked unconcernedly and resumed.

Alec hefted the rock, trying to judge the distance. Did he dare? It might be worth it, just to give the bird a scare.

As he looked up, however, the bird gave him a direct and warning stare. “Drop the rock, boy.” There was steel in that raspy voice, but the creature made no movement.

Letting the stone fall, Alec thrust his hands into his pockets and took a breath.

“Okay,” he said, “I have a question.”

“Yes?” the bird replied curtly. “What is it?”

“Why were you watching me this morning? I saw you,” he said, pointing to the trees, “What do you want?”

The owl thing was quiet, as though it was thinking. Finally, it gave another grating cackle and eyed him slyly.

“You’re wrong, boy. Tonight is the first time I’ve ever set eye on your sorry little human hide.”

“Alright, that’s it!” Alec growled. He bent over to pick up another stone, but a deep, rich voice rumbled through the air, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t mind him, lad. It was me you saw.”

There came a movement from the brush, and something huge stepped out of the cover of the trees. After his initial shock, Alec stared in wonder.

The creature before him was impressive; broad shouldered and tall, it was powerfully built. Soft on its feet and coordinated in its movements, it moved about with an easy and practiced grace, striding quietly into the light.

Alec’s breath caught in his throat.

It was covered all over in thick brown fur, which seemed especially strange on its upright humanoid body. Its face was fearsome, reminding Alec vaguely of a bear’s, but with a much nobler brow and intelligent features. A thick mane of dark hair fell to its shoulders, and a neatly trimmed beard curtained its jaw.

As it walked closer, Alec felt smaller and smaller. It must have been almost eight feet tall! It wore clothes, which was comforting for some reason, but they were very odd looking, as though the creature had stepped out of some medieval age.

The creature dipped a knee, tucked one arm at its waist, and swept the other gravely in front of itself while it bowed. When it lifted its head, Alec gasped; its eyes were golden, and they glimmered like the eyes of a wolf in the night.

Standing, the creature spoke again.

“I am Caradoc.”

The creature paused, waiting for Alec to do something, but he could think of nothing to say. It was hard enough to breath, let alone to speak!

The creature eyed him, curious but not unfriendly, before continuing.

“I have come to make a request of you, Alec,” it informed him.

“The Maker has sent me. Darkness rises in my world, and strange things are heard on the wind; I fear for my land, for my king, and for my people. I Traveled here to find the aid I needed, and I have found it in you. At first, I doubted, but your kind has helped my people before. And, though you probably do not know it, you bear the mark of the Maker.”

Still dazed by the suddenness of it all, Alec gave a start and broke in, words coming from his mouth in a rush. “Wait, what? You need my help? But you don’t even know me! And what do you mean, I’m marked? Who’s the Maker?”

Caradoc smiled, and gestured towards the woods. “Come. Jakar and I will show you the way. I will explain what I can as we walk.”

A warning flag went off in Alec’s mind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he sputtered, “I’m not going with you anywhere! The bird thing has hardly been friendly, and I just met you.”

Caradoc listened and grinned up at the bird, teeth flashing white in the gloom. “Already making friends, Jakar?”

Jakar stared back flatly.

Turning again to Alec, Caradoc’s face softened.

“You are wise to be wary, young one. Let me assure you, you will be safe with me.” He laid his hand on something at his waist, and for the first time Alec noticed the sword belted at his hip. Its hilt glinted silver in the dusk.

He really is from medieval times, Alec thought to himself, eyes wide.

“But, that is not the only reason you should come,” Caradoc continued, clapping a hand on Alec’s shoulder earnestly. “I have watched you for some time now, and I know that you are sad with your life here. Should you come to Altharia, I can promise you this: you will find happiness. It is a world of wonder and good things. It may challenge you, but it will be for the best.”

His words struck home, closer than he could know. Alec was surprised at how powerfully the creature’s words affected him.

“A world of wonder and good things,” he repeated, tasting the words.

He tried to think of what that would be like, and as his mind raced with the possibilities, a smile found its way to his face. To his surprise, he felt something deep within, a yearning he didn’t understand, pushing him to go with this strange creature.

“Come,” Caradoc said again, eyes twinkling in the dusk. “We will talk as we walk. Are you coming, Jakar?”

The bird swooped down from his roost and landed lightly behind Alec, waddling forward in an ambling shuffle. At Alec’s quizzical glance, Jakar gave a shrug and pointed into the trees.

“No room for flying in there, boy.”

When they stepped past the screen of greenery, Alec found that his expectations of what the forest held fell far short. The forest was its own world of silence and stillness, filled with the hushed magic of the evening. The sun had finally gone all the way down, leaving the moon to take his kingly seat in the night sky, sending bars of mote-filled white through the canopy of trees. There was just enough light to see where they were going, highlighting fallen logs and game trails, revealing a depth to the grove that was mystifying.

One would never have guessed that the forest sat on a golf course.

“You have much beauty in your world as well, Alec,” Caradoc murmured appreciatively. “Almost, it begins to compare to the groves of Altharia. The breathing of the trees here is subdued, and their song is quiet, but in my heart it kindles a memory of Erithien. We have been away only a little time, but already I long to see her beauty and hear her song mingle with the waters of the Crys.”

Caradoc’s eyes grew somber and his face earnest, and he began to sing in a low, rich chant, voice drifting through the woods as they walked.

 

She danced, a dream of joy and grace,

Her feet as light as dryad’s lace,

We watched and wept, her guard we kept,

The mother of our ancient race.

 

Her eyes of silvered fluorspar

Her hair of sunlight from afar

Her skin of night, though shining bright,

Neath twinkling light of gleaming star.

 

Erithien, we know thee well

Thy glades and forests, groves and dells,

Thy tree-framed deeps, where magic sleeps,

And age-old beauty shining dwells.

 

Erithien, Erithien,

Earthen lady, forest maiden

Our hearts shall mourn, ‘til we are borne

To see thy dancing form again.

 

His voice faded into the night, and all three of them walked in silence. Alec’s eyes were shining, brightened by Caradoc’s song. He felt the yearning within himself grow.

“Who are your people, Caradoc?” he asked finally. “I’ve never seen anyone like you. What do you call yourselves?”

“We call ourselves Arthians,” the large creature answered. “We live in the forests that I sang of, the forests of Erithien. My home is Erithien’s capital, the city of Ariendor; many other Arthians abide there as well.  We are all ruled by our king, Asbjorn; he is very old and wise and full of knowledge. Perhaps you will meet him – he is sure to be interested in a human visitor. I am sure that he will welcome you warmly.”

Alec took a moment to digest the information.

“What about Jakar? Is he from… Erithien, too? There aren’t bird Arthians, are there?”

Jakar’s clacking laughter broke harshly into the stillness.

“Bird Arthians,” he chuckled, clearly amused.

“An easy mistake,” Caradoc smiled. “Jakar has been a close friend of mine for many years now. His people are called the Eeries, a fierce race from the South. Most of them are like Jakar – of a rougher kind but dependable.”

If Jakar appreciated the compliment he gave no indication, shambling along steadily.

“Look now,” Caradoc exclaimed, “we draw close to the Door.”

They stood on the upper ridge of a ravine, where the land dropped off and opened into a small clearing at its base. There, in that clearing, stood two regal oak trees, swirling trunks rooted solidly and straightly in the peaty earth.

With Caradoc leading, they made their way down towards them.

Alec shook his head in astonishment. All this was right beside Hole #13 and he never would have known! He bet Timothy Cobbler didn’t have a clue either.

Wouldn’t be the first time, he scowled inwardly.

At length, they came to the oaks. Caradoc walked to the space between them and turned, arms folded and brow stern.

“You have had a little time to think, Alec,” he said, “but there is more you must know before you make your decision.”

He held an arm behind him, as if pointing to something. Whatever it was, Alec could not see it.

“The passage of time works differently in Altharia than here in your world,” Caradoc’s voice rumbled in the stillness. “A day may pass in Altharia and as much as a year will pass here; sometimes a decade in Altharia amounts to only a few hours in this world. Should you come with us, you will not know which it will be.

“What’s more,” he continued, “there is no simple way back. When we pass through to Altharia we cannot simply turn around and return. When it is the Maker’s will, he will open the Door again.

“Do not let that frighten you,” he added quickly, noting Alec’s gasp, “you will not be imprisoned or held, certainly not by my people. If all goes well, you will have opportunity to return to your world. But I cannot say when that will be, or how it will come about.”

Alec’s thoughts raced in the quiet, processing Caradoc’s words. A fist of fear gripped suddenly at his stomach and the forest seemed very, very dark.

“You… you said if all goes well,” he stammered. “What if something happens to me? Something… bad.”

Caradoc and Jakar shared glances before Caradoc shook his head heavily.

“No one knows, Alec,” he said quietly. “There are many theories, for humans have come to Altharia before, but none have ever died with us so no one knows for certain. Aviriel does not even know, and she is the wisest among us.”

Jakar’s voice broke in, his eyes hooded and grave. “Your question is keener than you know, boy. Caradoc speaks often of Altharia’s beauty, but know this: there are many dark and dangerous things in our world. If you come, you aren’t coming to a javindra party – Altharia has its share of perils.”

He seemed to be referring to something in particular, for as he spoke, Caradoc grew stiffer and stiffer, shoulders hunching and lip curling.

“You speak of Khubas, Jakar.” Caradoc’s voice was bleak and grim. “But he has not been seen for over a century now!”

“Um, I have a question,” Alec broke in, looking back and forth at both of them. “There’s not actually a chance that I’ll die, is there? I mean, you’re not bringing a fourteen year-old kid into a warzone… right?”

The two Altharians glanced at each other. Jakar nodded.

“What?!” Alec shouted, not caring if anyone heard.

“Jakar!” growled Caradoc, eyes ablaze. “Listen to me, little one! Danger may come or it may not, but Altharia is presently at peace. You heard me – our enemy has not even been seen in a hundred years. And should any battle arise, we have our own warriors to fight it. The Maker marked you for something other than fighting.”

“That much is certain,” Jakar muttered dryly, casting a sidelong glance Alec’s way.

He quieted under Caradoc’s glare.

The Arthian turned to Alec. “That’s not enough for you, is it?”

When Alec stayed quiet, he nodded to himself and sighed.

Then, straightening, Caradoc drew his sword and raised his voice so that it echoed boldly in the night.

“I pledge to you, Alec Breen, by all that is sacred and fair, by my love for Erithien, and by my honor as an Arthian – that I, Caradoc Cal’Corwyn, will see that no harm comes to you, except that it come over my corpse, hewn down in your defense. When you have need of aid, call my name to the trees of Altharia; be it even so weak as a whisper, I will hear and come. This I pledge before the Maker.”

He lowered his eyes and returned his sword to its sheath.

Jakar, who had watched Caradoc’s oath without expression, leaned towards Alec. The teenager was dumbfounded, uncertain of what had just occurred, and more than a little intimidated by the Arthian’s vow.

“He has given you one of the strongest promises of his people,” the bird muttered. “Count on it; he will keep you safe.”

Caradoc took a deep breath then, as though a formidable weight had settled onto his broad shoulders.

He caught Alec in his golden-eyed gaze.

“You have heard that there is good and evil in Altharia; you have heard that you face risk in coming with us; you have heard my oath to you. In some way, I knew that such a promise would be required, and so I do not hesitate to give it to you. The cost is great, but our need is greater; of this, I am certain.

“I apologize that we have had to move so quickly. I am sure that there is yet much that alarms you. But now, I must ask you plainly: Alec Breen, will you come with us?”

He went silent then, an immense shadow in the dark, standing between the twin oaks, wolfish eyes searching out Alec’s answer earnestly.

This is unbelievable! a voice shouted in Alec’s mind. What do you think you’re doing?

There were so many red flags and warning signs; it would be foolish to ignore them, to take such risks and walk blindly into danger.

To go forward now would be like walking out over a canyon on a tight-rope. In the fog.

No turning back, no sure reward, and everything to lose.

You should just go back home, he thought to himself. Go back to your room and go to sleep before it gets too late.

He’d eventually forget about all this; Caradoc and Jakar would go back to their world, and everything would return to normal.

And yet…

As he looked at Caradoc and considered the Arthian’s oath, he found that his yearning to go to this Altharia had not diminished at all; in fact, it had grown.

He could hardly believe it, but he wanted to go.

Caradoc mystified, terrified, and intrigued him all at once. And, though it seemed strange to admit it, the Arthian’s promise was comforting.

Alec glanced again at him, wondering what kind of creature could pose any threat to Caradoc at all. Nothing he could imagine, that was for certain.

He liked the Arthian, he realized. And Jakar too, in his own way. They treated him differently than he had ever been treated before, especially Caradoc.

He felt needed.

Important.

Who were these Arthians, anyway? What was their world like?

Would he ever get a chance like this again? To do something that mattered, to travel to a new world, to make a difference? The more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him. His adrenaline was pumping, sending a thrill through his mind, a thrill that offered reason after reason for going with them.

As he sorted through the rush of thoughts and feelings, a resolution settled on him.

He knew what he would do.

It wasn’t reasonable. It wasn’t something he could entirely explain. He felt strange, and a little light-headed, as though he were making a decision of greater importance than he could possibly know. But he knew he had to.

When he finally spoke, it sounded like someone else’s voice coming out of his mouth.

“I’ve made my decision,” Alec said, “I’ll come with you.”

Caradoc watched him steadily, paying close attention to every word. Alec took a deep breath.

“Take me to Altharia.”

There was complete stillness for a moment, and then Caradoc gave a pleased smile, nodding.

“We are honored. You have made the right choice, lad,” he assured him.

“Now, I will open the Door.”

Drawing his sword again, Caradoc turned and faced the space between the two oaks. Moonlight glittered along the length of the blade, limning it with white light, dancing along its edge, casting small shadows over the blood trough, gleaming silver in its hilt. Alec watched, entranced, noticing for the first time how beautiful a weapon it was, a work of deadly art.

Gripping its hilt with both hands, Caradoc lifted the sword above his head and began to chant, voice low and commanding. His words bore up under the stillness of the forest, rising and falling in steady, purposeful rhythm.

“Digra shodunha dwallen. Mot-hu danir diskrai. Dryn tashta morren hai gerro,” he began, eyes closed.

Darkness and moonlight swirled around him like a shifting, billowing cloak. The magic of the night turned in on itself, focusing its power on the Arthian, gathering and building around him.

Alec became suddenly aware of a growing pressure that drew tightly around them, like great hands were gripping the forest and holding it close. The air tingled with energy, and a quiet breath of wind stirred in his ears, mingling with Caradoc’s words.

A gleam appeared suddenly in the hilt of Caradoc’s sword, pure and white.

Still he chanted.

The gleam blossomed, the silvered beams of the forest feeding its radiance, until it appeared that the Arthian clasped a star in his hands. Power whirled around him, tossing the tendrils of his mane in its wind, so that they streamed behind him wildly. The light blazed up into the sword’s blade.

“Ein allan do aerin stellare, Althar gorienn. Erith gorienn. Porshanna!” Caradoc finished with a shout, his voice thundering with a strength that rumbled through the forest.

A bar of white-hot fire shot from the end of the sword, straight up through the canopy of trees, stabbing into the murkiness of the night sky like a holy beacon. The ground beneath their feet shook, and as they fought to keep their balance, another light, twin to the one from Caradoc’s sword, appeared in the air between the two oak trees. It shot upwards about twenty feet, before splitting apart and tracing what looked like two giant rectangles, joined at the middle.

A groaning filled the forest like the tearing of cloth and the splitting of rock. The trees shook and shuddered. With a ponderous moan, the two rectangles pulled apart in opposite directions like sliding doors, the space between them opening into inky blackness. At first it roiled and churned, a sea of angry tar, but suddenly it settled, its surface growing smooth and clouded, pierced through here and there with points of sparkling starlight.

The light of Caradoc’s sword died abruptly, its hilt giving a final flare before winking out.

The large Arthian let his hands drop, wearily returning his blade to its sheath, and turned to Alec with a smile.

“Come,” he invited warmly, gesturing to the opening before him. “Altharia awaits.”

Striding forward confidently, he lifted a foot and stepped into the darkness.

Wordless and numb, Alec followed.

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