by M K Drake
Atticus beams, ecstatic at this news. He knows it won’t change how he feels about his parents, but he also knows how long they have fought to earn this status, and to be called ‘parents’ rather than ‘guardians’ means the world to them. Perhaps now, the loss of their child can be brought one step closer to closure.
Sophia stands first and walks over to Atticus, closely followed by Joseph. They both hug him tightly, and Atticus hugs back, they become a family all over again.
# # #
The Jones’s converse jovially over their dinner; savouring every moment of it. When they finally finish, Atticus helps Sophia load the dishwasher before heading upstairs to his room. He has a lot of reading to do and is eager to prepare for his PQE interview with Professor Sprocking tomorrow. It then hits him, how is he supposed to prepare? He knows nothing of what is expected, the only clue he has is the old rucksack that Professor Morgan handed to him after class.
His room is typical of a teenage boy. His PC hums on a small workstation in the corner, a few shelves with CD’s and books litter the walls, accompanied by several posters − one of his favourite football team, Aston Villa, proudly takes centre stage on the ceiling.
Sitting on his bed, which resides in the centre of the rear wall, he reaches for his bag and pulls out the rucksack. Cautiously he unzips it and pulls out three books; the first is entitled The Myth of the Minotaur, the second Dark Realms Discovered? and the third, A Majjai History: Vol 1.
All three are plain in appearance. The titles are embossed at the top of the cover, and a circular emblem in the centre, the emblem contains the letter ‘M’ within it. He stares at it again. The emblem − minus the letter ‘M’ − matches his birthmark identically. He quickly rolls up the sleeve of his left arm and turns towards his mirror, and sure enough, when holding one of the books alongside his arm, the two marks match. Taken aback, he reaches for the first book. He wants to tell his parents everything that is happening, but he feels something within him advising him not to, as if these revelations are not ready to be revealed yet, to anyone.
Atticus begins to read, fascinated by each page of the books’, he speeds through The Myth of the Minotaur in less than an hour, and Dark Realms Discovered? in about the same time. He finally gets to A Majjai History: Vol 1, and is captivated by this book. It details the history of the Majjai − not just the ‘Three Wise Men’ account everyone knows about from biblical stories, but even further into the past, many orders of millennia earlier. It tells of a war, between good and evil, where the Majjai fought evil with powers only thought possible in fairytales. The book reveals the presence of an evil demonic being, with a gift not seen by any Majjai, the power to call forth demons from the depths of hell itself and even its quest to manipulate the fragments of time. The book goes further and talks about a select group of Majjai: protectors, warriors, but didn’t delve too deep into their origins or fate.
The book then begins speaking of meditation techniques and chants, which Atticus finds difficult to pronounce. He practices some of the meditation techniques for a little while, until a knock on the front door disturbs his concentration and stops him from reading too much more.
Chapter 6
The Note that Time Forgot
“Atticus,” says Joseph from behind the door, “Marcellus is here, why don’t you pop down for a few minutes?”
“Coming,” Atticus answers quickly.
Marcellus is eager to tell of his recent exploits in and around Iran. He is an archaeologist, who specialises in ancient Persia, and is excited with what he has found.
Atticus makes his way downstairs, he likes Marcellus as he is always jolly and treats Atticus very well when it comes to Christmas and birthdays.
Marcellus excitedly beckons towards him, “Atticus, you must come here, come, come!”
Atticus sits down in the main living room; Joseph and Sophia are on the sofa opposite and Marcellus in a large single seated lounger. The log fire is blazing fiercely, lighting and heating the dimly lit room at the same time keeping the warm atmosphere alive, soothing its occupants.
“So Marcellus, how was your trip?” asks Joseph.
“Very good, Joseph. Remember that little note?” Marcellus inquires.
For a moment Joseph looks puzzled, then the realisation strikes him: the note that Marcellus is referring to is the one they found in Atticus’ basket, “You mean…?”
“Yes Joseph, that note,” replies Marcellus. At this point, both Sophia and Joseph are giving their full attention to him.
“What note?” asks Atticus, more confused than ever at this point.
“Well Atticus,” Marcellus responds, making eye contact with Joseph and Sophia to ensure that it was ok to continue, “When you were found, there was a note… your father handed it to me…”
“Found?” at this point, Atticus is looking at both his parents and Marcellus, “You mean at the orphanage?”
“Erm, orphanage? Erm, not quite, Atticus.” Marcellus looks at both Joseph and Sophia again.
“It’s okay, Marcellus, it is time Atticus knew about how we found him,” says Sophia, looking lovingly and worryingly at Atticus. Now Atticus gives Marcellus his fullest attention.
“Well, Atticus,” continues Marcellus, “Your folks get a little, shall we say, excited, when recalling these events, so it is probably best you hear it from my wonderful, calm self.”
“Get on with it, will you,” ribs Joseph, who is also eager for Atticus to know, even if it is making him incredibly nervous.
Marcellus nods and looks back towards Atticus, “We found you at a disused warehouse about 15 years ago, it was a very stormy night, and you, well, literally appeared out of nowhere.” Atticus’ gaze never leaves Marcellus’ face as he continues the story of how they found him, “…needless to say, we were all a little flabbergasted, and in the commotion, your father handed me the note. It was written in a language none of us understood. I thought it seemed familiar, but also thought it impossible that it could be what I suspected. Anyway, we completely forgot about the note, until earlier this year when I was clearing out my stock room and library. I mentioned the rediscovery to Joseph, and that over the years of excavations and study in Iran, the note now made some sense to me. Obviously Joseph was very excited at this, and I said I would take it with me on my next trip.”
Marcellus adjusts his seating position, takes a sip of his tea, and carries on.
“I recognised the calligraphy in the note to be very similar to an ancient Persian dialect,” continues Marcellus, “Now, a contact I have in Iran knew someone who was well-versed in this particular dialect; it took a few days, but he managed to translate it.”
All members of the Jones family are on the edges of their seats, eager to hear what the translation says.
“Hurry, Marcellus, you must tell us!” demands Sophia.
Marcellus clears his throat before beginning, “Well, loosely translated, it says this:
Within this basket lay the boy.
The boy with the mark of ring entwined
It is he who is chosen, chosen to be our saviour from the dark one
To the keeper of the boy, he who finds him, it is decreed that they be his protector
The time for the act to be done will be revealed at a time which only the chosen one will know, the revelation of the mark and the purpose of his calling will be proof of his destiny. The Majjai have protected him to this day; the keeper must carry on this duty until the day of the chosen one arises.
“Some of the grammar is a little weak, as the dialect has not existed for many millennia, but the core of its meaning is there,” says Marcellus.
By this time, everyone is staring at Atticus, who himself is staring back at them.
“I delved deeper into this whole ‘mark’ business,” Marcellus adds, “It turns out the mark is one held in high regard by an ancient sect of Majjai who have been thought to have been disbanded thousands of years ago. The very fact that it exists on your arm, Atti
cus, is really quite perplexing.”
Atticus longs to show everyone the books, and the letter regarding the PQEs, but something tells him not to; a feeling that the time is not right, and after the revelation of Marcellus’ discovery, it makes even more sense for him to trust his feelings.
Marcellus continues with other stories, but Joseph and Sophia are still concerned about the note and what it all means. Atticus is exhausted, and knows he has a long day ahead of him tomorrow. He says his ‘good nights’ and heads towards his bedroom, hoping for a night without nightmares.
“Goodnight sweetie,” says Sophia, “We’ll talk about this fully tomorrow,” and with a peck on his cheek, Atticus continues towards his room.
Chapter 7
The Prophecy
Joseph stokes the fire as Marcellus helps Sophia clear the coffee table, “What do you think this all means?”
Marcellus pauses, “Well, I’m not entirely sure. It’s obvious that Atticus is important, but for what purpose, I couldn’t say. The friend I spoke to about this was very excited, seemed to think that this note had something to do with a saviour, someone destined to protect our world from a great evil. After the full translation, he was even more adamant, so much so he is planning to go into training to ‘fight alongside’ this chosen one.”
Joseph returns to his seat, the fire still lighting the room with a warm glow, “You are right about one thing there − Atticus is very important, important to us. We didn’t need a note to tell us that.”
Sophia carries the tray of empty cups into the kitchen, and Joseph grabs the opportunity to talk to Marcellus privately. He waits until the clinking of the cups and saucers disappear from earshot.
“You’re holding something back,” says Joseph, “I have known you for far too long to miss the signs Marcellus. Now tell me, what else do you know?”
Marcellus checks the large, dark, oak door to the living room, peering outside to make sure Sophia is not returning early. Upon carefully closing it, he returns his attention towards Joseph, “Yes, there was more, but I didn’t want to worry Sophia or Atticus. Sophia especially, she has been through too much,” Marcellus sits close to Joseph, speaking softly as he continues, “There is a prophecy. I uncovered parts of it last year, but after this translation, it all fits.”
“What prophecy?” asks Joseph.
“We don’t have time to go into it all right now,” says Marcellus, “but it talks of a war, and a man. This man, he will be the one to end the war. It has been waging for thousands of years, hidden from what the prophecy calls ‘normals.’ I’m assuming that means ‘normal people.’”
“Normals?” quizzes Joseph, “Normal people?”
“Well, more specifically, it translates to ‘The non-Majjai, mortals.’ The Majjai were purportedly the creators of Magic,” says Marcellus.
“Magic?” Joseph, now sporting a very quizzical face, with eyes wide open and mouth ajar, continues to listen.
“Yes, Magic. The words Magic, and Magician, were born from the word Majjai,” replies Marcellus, “Remember, how you told me about the accident, and what happened, and then how we found Atticus. It never made sense until now. The prophecy also mentions a mark − the same mark that Atticus has on his arm. I was only able to translate that part of the prophecy on my last visit; the note I gave them had the same scripture, but I could not decipher it.”
“So, you are saying that Atticus is the one who is going to stop this war?” asks Joseph.
Marcellus pauses again, then looks Joseph straight in the eyes “Yes!”
“Absurd,” retorts Joseph, “If Sophia knew what you were saying, she would be petrified right now!”
“Which is why she must not know. I fear Atticus’ destiny is out of our control, and mothers tend not to accept that,” Marcellus puts a hand on Joseph’s shoulder to calm him, “Remember, when Atticus was just a baby, the strange things that used to occur? Glowing blue lights during thunderstorms, things moving around the room as if they were alive − you can’t say you have forgotten these things. These things alone are proof that he may be a Majjai.”
“Yes, Marcellus,” replies Joseph, “but those occurrences have not taken place since he turned three; you saw to that with that medication you brought back from Iran. We trusted you then, as we do now.”
Marcellus tries to reassure Joseph, “You must trust me for a little longer my friend; you know there is more to Atticus’ existence than that of a normal child − how we found him is proof of that, and the birthmark confirms it. I fear there are challenges ahead, but I have no idea when they will begin. You have already been touched by this Magic. There is much we do not know of our own existence, let alone that of Atticus’. Our minds must remain open.”
“Open for what?” asks Sophia.
Marcellus and Joseph didn’t hear Sophia return to the room; they look at each other, wondering what else she overheard.
“Nothing to worry about darling,” Joseph replies quickly, “Just talking about that note.”
“Oh, that,” Sophia takes a seat next to Joseph, “I’m sure it’s all nonsense.”
“But what if…”
Sophia stops Joseph before he can finish “But if it isn’t, we’ll be ready, as long as we are together, we are strong. We can only follow our destiny, if it’s bad, hopefully Atticus can change it,” and with a coy smile aimed at the two men, she sits back, grabs a cushion with one hand, hugging it to her belly and grabs Joseph’s arm with the other, before pulling him back to lay her head on his shoulder.
“Uhum!” mutters Marcellus, “I think it’s time for me to go, it’s getting late. No need to get up, I know my way out. Joseph, perhaps we can meet for a late lunch tomorrow?”
“That would be good. The usual place, about 3.30 ok?” replies Joseph.
“Perfect, good night. I think I’ll scamper off now before you two get too lovey–dovey,” Marcellus knew he had to get out quickly, but still gets hit for his comment with a cushion aimed at his head by a chuckling Sophia.
Sophia waits for the door to close shut before confronting Joseph, “Ok, now what were you two really whispering about?” she gives Joseph what they both have learnt to call ‘the look.’
“Nothing whatsoever; like you said, whatever we’ll face… it will be together,” replies Joseph.
“I trust Marcellus,” says Sophia, “but I fear he his hiding something. Ever since Atticus started at that school, Marcellus has been so… well… concerned about him, his whereabouts, his classes, his teachers, everything.”
“I know, sweetie, but like you said, we can trust him, he has been with us since the beginning, and he hasn’t been wrong, about anything… Yet,” Joseph comforts Sophia with a cuddle, “Would you like some tea?”
Sophia nods “You always know how to calm me, JJ, I know whatever we have to face, if we are together, we’ll beat it… together,” She lets go of Joseph’s arm and hugs the cushion, “Now go make me some tea or I’ll have to force you to kiss me.”
“No force necessary, dear,” Joseph gives Sophia a quick kiss on the cheek, but Sophia grabs his shirt and kisses him back passionately. Josephs caresses her hair before softly placing his warm hand on her cheek. He smiles, gently kisses her forehead, “I love you so much, you know,” he whispers softly while Sophia’s eyes are still closed. She sits back onto the sofa softly grinning while Joseph walks to the kitchen, taking care not to make too much noise as he passes the staircase leading to where Atticus is sleeping.
Chapter 8
The Realm Of Demons
Atticus’ room is silent apart from a small fan whirring away in the background. His bed is centrally located on the far wall, with posters of his favourite movies and football team above him. His computer is in the far opposite corner, Sophia always tells him off for leaving it on all night, but Atticus finds the noise soothing, and prefers it on while sleeping.
The only sign of life in the room is the movement of the bed sheets in time with Atticus’ breathi
ng. Unbeknown to the sleeping Atticus, the rooms’ temperature begins to fall; it becomes icy, each breath now steams out of Atticus’ mouth, yet he still dreams, ignorant of his changing surroundings. The steam from his mouth doesn’t disappear as it would normally, instead it gathers in the room. It begins to swirl around the bed, the rest of the room begins to pivot around the swirling cloud, but the bed remains still. The room turns faster and faster, blurring into a single circular wall of bleeding lines. The swirling mist engulfs the bed, creating an opening hole below it. The room suddenly stops spinning, and beneath the bed, with Atticus still sleeping, the floor opens up revealing an abyss. The bed drops into it, spinning wildly as it falls.
The spinning finally wakes Atticus, it takes him a moment to realise what is happening; he doesn’t understand it, but instinctively grabs the corner post of his bed. Hanging on, he tries to look down into the darkness, but sees nothing. The spinning finally stops and the bed lands with a thud.
Atticus looks up, the only light source comes from above, where his dimly-lit room remains in the distance, and as he looks, he can see the opening closing. He quickly scrambles to open the drawer on the bottom of his bed, in it is a torch and his glasses. He puts his spectacles on, and manages to find the torch just before the opening above closes. He feels for the ‘on’ switch of the torch in the darkness, locates it, and switches it on. He points it to the ground first, to check if it was safe to get off the bed. The ground itself is dusty, stony, like a cave floor. He feels this is all another lucid dream, he knows he must journey through it, or remain in the dark.
Atticus moves the torch along the ground until the beam of light is horizontal, he makes out a wall, about twenty meters in the distance, again it resembles a cave wall of some sort, and strangely the colour is not dull grey, but more of a dull orange. He cautiously steps off the bed, making sure his feet find solid ground and not some illusion of a floor. Once happy that the floor is secure, he lays down his other foot, sweeps the surface with his bare feet, watching out for sharp stones, and slowly makes his way to the stone wall. He turns his back to it, then shines the torch around him, trying to get some sort of bearing. He locates his bed, shines the light on it, only to find it fading. It becomes transparent, and then just disappears, melting into the nothingness.
