Warriors of the Black Shroud (3 page)

Chapter 5

I
f Walker had been able to catch the words and stuff them back into his mouth he would have. But it was too late. Everyone had heard them. He looked around, frightened, but even the fearsome-looking Lumina softened her expression a little, and the king seemed almost as if he was in pain.

“My dear boy,” he said, “we have treated you so badly; you must forgive us. We have looked for so long for a Chosen One, and have had so many disappointments, that we forgot, in our joy and relief at finding you, that you are a person and have a life, and what we want may not be what you want.”

Lumina looked at him and smiled a sympathetic smile.

“The mark,” she said, “grants you the ability to rule, but unless you have the will to rule it is as if you were a commoner.”

“Lumina is right,” the king agreed. “And I have faith that you shall have the will when you understand more of this realm. Come with me and I will explain many things to you. Lightkeepers, we must continue our discussion at a later date, but not too much later.”

He took Walker by the hand and walked behind the throne. Eddie made as if to accompany them, and the king turned toward him.

“No, young prince,” he said gently. “This is only for Chosen Ones. I will reunite you with him when we are finished.”

“Very well, sire,” said Eddie.

It was at this moment that Walker looked up into the king's face. There, in the same place as on Walker's cheekbone, was an identical star-shaped birthmark. The king pulled open the drape that concealed his bedchamber. The room was very simple and mostly bare of furniture, but there was an enormous bed on a raised platform. The only decoration was a carving of an ancient heraldic shield on the wall opposite the entrance. The king took Walker over to the bed and sat down on it, indicating that the boy should be seated on a stone bench nearby. He was silent for a few moments as if he was trying to work out the best way to tell Walker something.

“When I see fine young men like you,” he finally began, “I always wish that I had been blessed with children of my own, but unfortunately it was not to be. If I had a son or daughter I would have passed the mark on to them, and then this search for a Chosen One that has gone on for so long would not have been necessary, and you wouldn't be here now.

“I don't know why you got the mark,” the king continued after a couple of minutes. “But I do know what it means. It means that if you choose to you could lead this Kingdom when I have gone. It shows that you have the strength to do so—not the physical strength, but the strength to do the right thing and to care for your people, to put their interests ahead of your own, and if necessary put your own life second to theirs. I hope I can persuade you that this is something you not only could do but that you will do.”

“But I don't live here,” Walker protested. “I don't even come from here. I have a family in another world. I couldn't rule here and live there.”

“In fact,” said the king, “you could. Time here and where you come from have little relationship to each other. You could stay here for many Eons, and become an old man like me, and then return to the Outerworld and it would be as if you had been gone for two of your—what do you call them?—your seconds. You would go back to being a boy—how old are you in Outerworld time?”

“Eleven,” said Walker.

“Well!” the king cried triumphantly. “You would be an eleven-year-old again. Now wouldn't that be something worth having! I would love to be your age again.”

Walker looked at the old, old man with his papery skin and ancient gnarled hands, and it was impossible to believe that he had ever been eleven. He felt sorry for him. Even his Lightkeepers didn't want to hear his predictions of disaster. As far as Walker could see the king didn't have anyone on his side. Walker felt the same way at school, but he could come home to his mother and his books. Then the king took the boy's hands in his own, and looked him straight in the face as if he had come to a decision.

“I'm going to take you to a place where only Chosen Ones may go,” he said. “It is called the Source, and it is where all of the energy for the Kingdom is stored. Without it we would be doomed to live forever in darkness, and our enemies would overwhelm us, for the dark is what they know the best.”

“You mean it's like a generator?” asked Walker.

“I do not know what that is,” replied the king, “but what I do know is that there is nothing like it in the Outerworld. You have seen nothing like the Source, and in fact nobody in the Kingdom apart from myself has ever seen anything like it. You and I are the only ones who can be in its presence.”

“Why?” Walker inquired.

“That I cannot tell you,” the king said. “In fact, much of what you see you will not remember, for the Source has secrets that only a ruler can know, and until you decide that you will be the future king, these secrets must remain hidden from you. Only when you truly commit to that will you be able to remember them. You will even forget how we got to the Source and how we returned, for its location is one of the greatest secrets.”

“You can do that?” asked Walker. “You can really make people forget things?”

“Of course,” replied the king with a smile. “It's one of the most useful things I know.”

“And can Eddie—I mean Prince Edward—do that as well?”

“I would hope so,” said the king, “for I taught him myself many Eons ago.”

“Wow,” said Walker.

And then suddenly it was as if he was dreaming, one of those dreams where you know more or less what is happening but the details are unclear. He knew they were going down brightly lit tunnels, and he saw walls sliding open to reveal the rooms behind them. Then all at once they were standing in a large round chamber, on the walls of which hung lances similar to the one the knight on the unicorn had been carrying. The room itself had no floor as such, but a series of circular steps that went up several feet. These ended in a platform on which was a carving of a claw. Nestled within the claw sat a globe, no bigger than a basketball, that shone brighter than the brightest light he had ever seen. He could feel the enormous power that flowed from it. A crown of exquisite workmanship hovered a few feet above, suspended from the roof by delicate metal cables. Energy pulsed up and down these lines, crackling and sparking. It was as if the crown was gathering up the orb's energy and transmitting it through the cables.

“This is the Source,” said the king in a quiet voice, as if they were in a sacred place. “We are standing in the Sanctuary, the most secret location in the Kingdom. There is also another secret that I must tell you that I pray you may never need to use, and that is . . . ”

And then Walker's brain went all fuzzy, and the next thing he knew he was sitting back on the stone bench by the king's bed, with the monarch bending over him.

“How do you feel?” the king asked.

“Amazing,” Walker replied. “I have so much energy, I feel as if I could do anything I wanted to, anything in the world.”

“And you could!” cried the king. “Well, anything in this world anyway. That's the gift of the Source to a Chosen One, the ability to absorb some of its power and use it for the good of the people. Come now, let us take a walk outside.”

The king pulled back the curtain that separated the bedroom from the antechamber, and the buzz of conversation from the Lightkeepers ceased as the monarch entered the room.

“Lightkeepers,” said the king, “the Chosen One and I are going to take a quick tour of the Kingdom, so you are dismissed for now. We will reassemble in the next cycle and discuss the security situation further. Now where's that messenger? Prince Edward, show yourself immediately!”

“I'm here, sire,” said Eddie, who was standing right behind the king.

“For the love of light!” the king exclaimed. “Don't go creeping up on people like that! It's most unnerving, especially when you're carrying that overgrown carving knife of yours. Do you have to have it constantly? Couldn't you leave it somewhere?”

He was referring to Eddie's sword, and Walker saw a look of determination spread over the boy's face. The King noticed it too.

“No, I suppose since you've been hauling it around for Eons it's probably with you for eternity,” he said. “Come along. I want to show my young lord here what he's been missing by living in the Outerworld.”

“Very good, sire,” Eddie said, and the three of them left the palace.

As they walked through the streets it became clear to Walker that the king was a man beloved by his people. Wherever they went the citizens greeted them with smiles and friendly waves, the men bowing and the women curtsying as he passed. It was also clear that the king loved his people and his Kingdom with equal passion. He was excited like a child to show both to Walker, and the boy realized that probably very few strangers ever passed that way, if any.

“See here,” cried the king as they passed a small workshop. “Look at this fellow. Look at that necklace he's making. Have you ever seen finer craftsmanship? Beautiful stuff. We love jewelry here; it reflects the light, you see.”

Whatever they saw the king assured Walker that it was unequaled in its excellence, not just in Nebula but on any planet anywhere in the universe. The king challenged Walker to prove him wrong, which, of course, he couldn't. They had just turned onto one of the avenues from a side street when a boy crashed into Walker, sending him flying to the ground.

“Oh, my lord,” he cried. “I'm so sorry. I was in a hurry and didn't look where I was going? Are you hurt?”

“Young man, have you ever heard of the word ‘walk'?” the king asked crossly.

“Yes, sire, I have,” replied the boy. “But I always seem to end up running.”

By this time Walker was back on his feet. The boy began to brush the dust that was everywhere in Nebula off Walker's clothes.

“I didn't mean to do that. I'm Astrodor, by the way.” He held out his hand for Walker to shake, and then for the first time he looked up at Walker's face and was transfixed.

“Oh wow,” he said in awe. “The mark of the Chosen One. Can I touch it?”

Instinctively Walker turned his head away. The king crouched down and looked straight into his eyes.

“Don't ever be ashamed of that mark,” he said, quietly but seriously. “Do you realize how few faces in history have been adorned with it? Only a handful of people have been so privileged. Be grateful for it. Show it with pride.”

But the king was wrong. Walker hadn't turned his face away because he was ashamed of his birthmark. Eddie had said the mark meant Walker was royalty. Astrodor looked at it with awe. The king claimed it made Walker a leader. But Walker knew none of it was true. He was just a wimpy kid with no friends, nothing special, no matter what anyone thought. And he didn't like anyone looking at him as if he was. It made him feel ashamed, not of the mark, but of himself.

The king strode on, shaking his subjects' hands and pointing out this feature and that. Walker had to almost run to catch him up. Although they must have walked for hours he didn't feel the slightest bit tired. Then the tour was over and they were back at the palace.

“Well, Chosen One,” the king said, “I hope that you enjoyed our little trip around this realm. These are good people, for the most part. Their only fault is that they have lived at peace for so long that they have forgotten that the powers of evil do not rest. But this is a fault most people would happily be burdened with, and not one of their own making.”

He paused, and then put his hands on Walker's shoulders.

“And now,” he said, “it is time for you to go home. Now you must return to the Outerworld.”

Chapter 6

W
alker couldn't believe his ears. Was the king really going to allow him to go back and leave the Kingdom behind? Didn't he understand that Walker would never return? The king smiled at him as if he knew everything that Walker was thinking.

“Why would I send you back to the Outerworld?” he said. “The better question is: Why would I keep you here against your will? What possible good would it do the Kingdom to have you here longing to be somewhere else? No, you must go back if for no other reason than to realize that time spent in the Kingdom in no way affects time in the Outerworld. Prince Edward will take you whenever you wish, and he will bring you back when you feel you are ready—if you feel you are ready.”

“I think I'm ready to leave,” said Walker, not wanting to let the opportunity to return home slip from his grasp.

“In that case,” said the king, “you must go. Prince Edward, take your friend to the Outerworld, and keep an eye on him while he's there. He is, after all, a Chosen One, and deserves our protection.”

“I will, sire,” Eddie replied.

The king turned to Walker and shook his hand. “Good-bye, young man. Until we meet again, which I hope will be soon.”

Walker said good-bye to the king and to the Lightkeepers as he and Eddie made their way out of the palace. They walked along the wide avenue that led to the gates of the Kingdom. Eddie suddenly took Walker's hand and started running. Then everything went black and the next thing he knew the two of them tumbled to a halt in the meadow behind the barn. Walker was facedown in the long grass, and he looked up to see Eddie rolling over and over, his Boston Red Sox jacket covered in burrs. He finally stopped with a thump against an apple tree.

“Oooph,” was all he could say.

He picked up his battered fedora and brushed the leaves and dirt off it.

“I really have to work on my reentry skills,” he said.

“When will you go back to the Kingdom?” Walker asked.

“Well,” Eddie replied, “I thought I might stick around here for a while. I don't want you forgetting about us.”

“That would be pretty hard,” Walker said.

“Unless I make you forget,” Eddie retorted with a grin.

“Yeah,” said Walker. “You never did show me how to do that!”

“We can't let you into all of our secrets all at once,” Eddie replied. “If we did you'd never come back.”

Walker felt a pang of conscience when Eddie said that, because, in his heart of hearts, he knew he never would.

“It'd be fun to have you around,” he told him, and surprisingly he meant it.

“Well, say hi to your mom for me,” said Eddie, “and tell her to save a slice of that cherry pie she's making.”

And with that he disappeared.

How does he know my mom's making a cherry pie?
Walker wondered to himself.

When he got back to the house, his mother was still in the kitchen. Walker's nose detected the comforting smell of a pie baking in the oven. He went up to her, kissed her on the cheek, and then sat down on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Did you miss me?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “Why would I miss you? You must've been gone all of two minutes. Much as I love you I can bear to be apart from you for that amount of time.”

So
, he thought,
it really does work like the king said it would. There is a difference between time here and in the Kingdom.

“You look pretty perky today,” his mother said. “You've got a sort of glow about you.”

When she said that Walker froze. Could it be that the effects of being in the Kingdom didn't wear off immediately? He stole a furtive glance at his hands, but they looked just like they always did when he was home.

“Since you told me you don't have any plans for the rest of this lovely day I've arranged a surprise for you,” his mother said.

For the second time in as many minutes Walker froze.

“What kind of a surprise?” he asked nervously.

“You know that old cottage on the Trumbell farm?” his mother asked him. “It seems that old Jeremiah Trumbell sold it to some folks from Boston. Anyway, they've been doing it up, and now they've moved in, and they have a daughter. So I invited her to come and play with you. She should be here soon.”

“Oh, Mom!” cried Walker. “You know how I hate meeting kids.”

“Sweetie, you've got to get over it,” his mother insisted. “You can't spend the rest of your life in isolation. You
have
to learn to get along with other people.”

“But those Outerworld kids always treat me like a freak,” Walker complained.

“What kind of kids?” asked his mother.

“Oh, it's just a word I use to describe people who aren't from around here,” Walker hurriedly said.

“Well, you're not a freak,” his mother assured him. “You just have a slight blemish that isn't nearly as noticeable as you think it is.”

“If it isn't noticeable,” Walker replied, “then why is it the first thing about me anyone notices?”

“You're too sensitive.” His mother sighed. “Anyway, it's too late to disinvite her now. She'll be here any moment.”

“I'm going up to my room,” Walker said crossly. “If you want me that's where I'll be!”

Walker had become skilled at avoiding his mother's attempts to organize social occasions for him. He had developed techniques that often managed to get rid of intruders quickly, and one of them was to present himself as the most boring boy they had ever met. He decided to read a book no other kid would be interested in. He looked around his room; then his eyes stopped on the perfect solution—
Collins English Dictionary and Thesaurus (New Edition)
. He pulled it down from the mantel above the fireplace, settled on his bed, his legs tucked under him, and did his best to look thoroughly interested.

There was a knock on his door and then his mother came in.

“Walker, this is . . .”

And that was as far as she got before Frances Livonia Hayes burst into the tiny bedroom and into his life like a force of nature.

“Hi, I'm Frances, but my friends call me Frankie. You can call me Frankie too if you like, because I think we're going to be friends. I hope so anyway because I love having friends. I've got lots and lots, and I bet you do too.”

Walker couldn't believe his eyes or his ears. She was short and skinny, and maybe a year or two younger than he was. She practically crackled with energy and Walker had the feeling she wasn't going to be easy to get rid of.

“What a cool room. It's so old. I love old, don't you? Our house is old too. Not the one in Boston, 'cause that's an apartment, not a house, but the one across the road. I love to imagine all the things that must have happened in each room for all the years before us. Do you think anyone ever died in this room? I bet they did.”

Actually this was one of the things that Walker had wondered about, because his bedroom was in the oldest part of the house, but Frankie had already launched into something else.

“What are you reading? A dictionary! I love dictionaries. I spend hours looking at the one we have at home. I love words, don't you? My favorite game is Scrabble—and crosswords. I
love
crosswords. What words are you looking at?”

She took the book from his hands and ran her index finger across the pages.

“Hey, look at this. Phillumenist—a person who collects matchbox labels. I didn't know matchboxes had labels, did you? Or at least none worth collecting? Don't people do funny things?”

Walker's head started to spin.

“Slow down!” was all he could think to say.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Frankie replied. “My mom always tells me I talk too much, but I tell her it's because I have two lawyers for parents so what does she expect. What's that on your face? Is that a tattoo? That is so cool. I love tats. I
soooo
want one but my mom says I'm too young. Do you think I'm too young for one?”

He was now confused enough that he didn't know what to think. This was the second time in just a few hours that someone had made a virtue out of his hated birthmark. He could understand why the citizens of Nebula thought it was great, but Frankie was just an ordinary girl.

“No—I mean yes,” he finally mumbled. “I mean it's not a tattoo. It's a birthmark.”

“Wow!” she said, peering more closely. “That's amazing. Will it ever go away?”

“I don't think so,” he replied. “I wish it would, but I don't think it will.”

“Why would you want it to?” she asked. “It makes you different and that's so great. I love being different. Why would you ever want to be the same as everyone else? What's the point of that?”

“I dunno,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Sometimes it just seems easier.”

“Oh, please!” she replied.

And that was that, end of conversation, or at least of that topic. Her final word on Walker's birthmark didn't prevent Frankie from discussing the merits of her cell phone when compared to that of her best friend's; her favorite food—meatloaf; her least favorite food—fish because it tasted fishy; her favorite books, movies, cars, card games, skateboards, teachers, and on, and on, and on. The fact that Walker barely said a word didn't worry her in the least. In fact she hardly seemed to notice, because when she looked at the clock beside Walker's bed she suddenly said:

“Oh my gosh! Is that clock right? I have to go home. It's been fun. I like you a lot. Do you like me? Shall I come by again tomorrow? Do you wanna go tracking in the woods? Do you think your mom would let you go?”

Walker could only mumble “Yeah, sure” in response and hope that his answer covered most of her questions. After promising to come by the same time the following day, Frankie bounded out, leaving Walker exhausted but okay. A few minutes later his mother poked her head around the door.

“Well, what did you think of Frances?” she inquired anxiously.

“She's different,” he replied, and she certainly was.