The Minions of Time

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Do not toss away your belief in the King; that assurance will be rewarded. Keep going, no matter how difficult the road, so that when you have followed all the King’s directions, you will see his words come to pass.

  “She’s in there!” the minion commander yelled. “Get her.”

  Owen turned the corner to see the familiar glow from the front windows of the Briarwood Café. People at tables looked in openmouthed horror at the oncoming horde. One man ran outside, only to be quickly overcome by the minions until he lay motionless on the ground.

  Owen dropped to his knees when he saw Clara Secrest at the counter.

  The commander saw her too. “That’s her! That’s the girl!”

  Simply a young girl with a good heart and a pretty face to this point in our story and having seen her listen to and counsel Owen the last time he was in the Highlands, we now take a closer look at Clara Secrest. That she carries so many plates on one arm and has made sure each order is correct (no cheese on the spinach salad, no mayonnaise on the chicken sandwich) tells us what a hard worker she is and that she cares about details. Her kindness toward children becomes obvious when she kneels beside a young boy who’s struggling through his order. She smiles and looks him straight in the eye.

  It appears a normal evening at the restaurant, with the usual number of people there for their senior citizens’ discount as well as the raucous high school crowd. Four boys wearing baseball hats low on their foreheads sit in the back and laugh louder than the rest of the room combined, but they don’t seem to care.

  One watches Clara, and she feels his eyes as she works her tables. She ignores the boys’ chuckles and loud references to her, another positive trait of this young girl.

  But the mood changes quickly, and customers drop their forks and point at the oncoming swarm of—what? Bees? Too big to be bees. More like small birds with big teeth and piercing eyes. And they look hungry.

  When the creatures smack the front windows, Clara drops plates and people jump and run for the back. Screams fill the dining room, which makes the owner rush out.

  “What’s all the noise?” he yells, glaring at Clara and apparently ready to holler at her for dropping the food.

  Clara points a shaky finger at the front window, and the owner is suddenly speechless. He moves out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron and squinting. “What in the world are those things?”

  When the big one squeals in some incomprehensible language, the owner takes a step back. His look is the same as if someone had pulled a dead rat from one of his dinners. He walks to the windows and pulls the blinds. But the beasts keep ramming the windows, screaming and gnashing their teeth.

  “What do they want?” an older woman shouts.

  “Calm down,” the man whispers, turning off the lights and scurrying to the back.

  A child weeps uncontrollably, nearly breaking Clara’s heart. She has a tender spot for all children, perhaps because she feels lost and alone like many of them.

  She kneels next to two frightened children. “It’s okay. We’re safe in here.” Their parents seem occupied with their own fear.

  One of the raucous boys taps Clara on the shoulder. She can smell the onions on his breath and knows it’s Gordan, because he was the only one who ordered onion rings.

  “Sit with us if those things scare you,” Gordan says.

  She wants to say, “I wouldn’t sit with you if your booth was the last safe place on earth,” but because she has a good heart and knows they would only laugh more, she simply smiles and turns back to the children.

  With the blinds pulled, no one can see the beasts clicking and clacking to get inside. However, a few of the creatures have come to the side windows. Something about them triggers a memory—or perhaps a nightmare Clara has had—and she presses her temples.

  The dream is of fire and sharp talons. She is young and being taken from everything she has known and loved. Down the hall she hears her parents screaming. Through the massive dark stone hallways she is pulled, grasped tightly, hair flying. And suddenly she is flying through the frigid wind with nothing but her nightclothes and her favorite blanket.

  The teen boys abandon their booth and move into the bathroom, closing the door on others who bang and try to push their way in.

  Suddenly the glass at the front of the restaurant gives a sickening crack. It won’t be long before the creatures break through. Clara huddles with the others, unable to tear her eyes from the window.

  Then a light shines outside and penetrates the shades as it approaches. Clara kneels with the children as the light grows brighter. The clicking and screeching of voices lessen, as if they had been called to another battle. The cracking of the window is replaced by a soft pinging, like marbles hitting a suit of armor.

  It is deathly quiet inside, besides the gasping of adults and the whimpering of children. The pinging stops outside, and the light goes out.

  A girl looks up at Clara with doe eyes. “Is it over?” she says, voice shaking.

  Clara whispers, “I hope so.”

  The doorknob turns. Children gasp. A woman clutches her husband’s arm. The owner grabs a steak knife from a table and brandishes it, though whoever is at the door cannot see him.

  As the door opens, Clara can see little until a sliver of light flashes and the orange glow of the kitchen stove reflects off something metallic.

  “Hello?” a male voice says softly, then more manly and urgently, “You people still in here?”

  “What do you want?” the owner says.

  “You need to get out,” the young man says. “The minions are down for the moment, but that won’t last.”

  Something about the voice stirs Clara, jogs her memory. “Owen!” she says and rushes to him.

  “Clara, stay away from him!” the owner yells. “He has a weapon!”

  “I know him. He’s my friend.” She turns to Owen. “Where have you been? Everyone’s been looking for you.”

  The others begin crowding around, even the bathrooms emptying. Someone says, “What did you call those things?”

  “Minions. And they’re down only temporarily. If you live near here, go. If not, find a safe spot and stay.”

  Gordan calls out, “Well, if it isn’t the invisible freshman. Where have you been?”

  Clara is fascinated by the change in Owen’s demeanor, by the way he stands straighter, chest out. His muscles are bigger, and he seems to look straight through Gordan. When she last saw Owen, his fear of Gordan and the others was palpable. Now he is anything but afraid. What has happened to my friend?

  Owen looks past Gordan. “Whoever wants to leave should do so now. Otherwise you’ll be trapped here until the attack is over.”

  “Who died and put you in charge?” Gordan says. “And where’d you get that thing?” He looks back at his friends. “Don’t get too close or he’ll use his new rubber sword.”

  Owen opens the door. “Leave now. This will be your only chance.”

  A few walk out, but most stay.

  Gordan grabs Owen by the shirt as he passes. “We have a score to settle, kid.”

  Owen grips Gordan’s hand, and Clara marvels at how Owen has grown. Gordan used to seem so much bigger, but now they’re almost eye to eye.

  Gordan grimaces and lets go of Owen’s shirt as the two lock eyes.

  “I agree,” Owen says, “but now is not the time.”

  “Be careful,” Gordan says, flexing his hand. “Threats can come back to haunt you.” He walks out, his friends close behind.

  Owen pulls Clara outside. “We need to talk.”

  He draws his sword at a buzzing in the distance, and Clara steps over writhing and squirming minions. “They’re coming back to life.”

  “We have a little time,” Owen says. “You live nearby, don’t you?”

  Clara nods. “I’ll show you.”

  Owen felt a new strength as he walked Clara through the old streets. Still, something about coming back made Owen fee
l small again. He had been through so much and learned even more, but now he was treated like his old self—not royalty but rabble.

  A new wave of minions flew in as he and Clara reached her house. Owen pushed her behind him as he raised his sword.

  “He’s found the girl!” a minion shouted, and the news echoed throughout the horde. “The Dragon will not like it! Attack!”

  But as they dived toward him, one by one they were drawn into his sword like moths to a flame.

  When the onslaught was over, the pile of minions was up to their ankles.

  “How did you learn to do that?”

  Owen took her hand. “Come inside. I have a lot to tell you.”

  Clara’s parents were not at home. Owen went through the house making sure the windows were closed and there was no way the minions could get in.

  He wondered what the minions had meant calling Clara “the girl.” And at the restaurant the minion commander had referred to her the same way. A shudder ran through him. Could Clara be his bride? And if so, how would he explain? How could he even begin to tell her all that had happened?

  Securing the windows in her room, he saw a nicely made bed and two waitress uniforms among the clothes in her closet.

  Owen paused at her small desk, where she had written on a tablet:

  I fear change, but I know I cannot grow without it. And it seems a great change is coming. The darkness encroaches. I feel it seeping in every day. I’ve tried to talk with Mom and Dad about it, but they do not have the same feeling. Or perhaps they do not want to admit it.

  Owen tore his eyes from the page. He felt guilty reading her thoughts, yet something drew him. Some connection—something familiar.

  Where do I start? Will she believe any of it?

  The teakettle whistled, and Owen hurried down to where Clara had set out two cups for them.

  “So where have you been?” Clara said. “Your father has been accused of terrible things. We even did an article about you in the school newspaper.”

  “Who wrote it?”

  “I did.” She retrieved a paper from a stack in the corner. On the front was his picture—his hair frighteningly out of place and a huge red zit on his chin.

  No News of Missing Student

  The disappearance of Owen Reeder has students, faculty, and the administration concerned. Authorities are investigating the events leading to his vanishing, but police admit they have few leads.

  The story went on to quote friends and acquaintances, including Owen’s teachers. One name caught his attention.

  Mrs. Rothem, one of Reeder’s former teachers, was reassigned to another school shortly before Reeder went missing. She says he was one of her favorite students.

  “Owen is unique,” she says. “He has such strength and power of mind. I’ve seen that kind of intellect only a few times, and it usually consumes the person. They become puffed up because of it. But there is a great humility in Owen, and I don’t doubt that he’ll go far. I just worry that something terrible has happened and that we’ll never know how great he can be.”

  “How did you find her?” Owen said, taking a sip of tea.

  “It wasn’t easy, but what good thing is?”

  “Where did you hear that?” Owen said, his heart racing.

  “From Mrs. Rothem. She said I should keep searching. That one day you would return. She asked me not to put it in my story, but she talked as if she knew you’d return at the right time. What she didn’t say was where you went. She didn’t know.”

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  Owen took a deep breath. “I used to think this was the only world—that there was nothing other than us.”

  Clara squinted. “You haven’t been abducted by aliens, have you?”

  Owen laughed. “In some ways I wish I was. No, there is more than you can imagine out there, another world much like ours and yet so different. There is also unspeakable evil there.”

  “Like here. A hideous man has been watching the restaurant. The police chased him off once. He just stands and watches.”

  “What does he look like?” Owen said, setting down his teacup.

  “He’s tall, but he stays in the shadows. One of our customers says he has severe burn scars on his face and neck.”

  “It’s him,” Owen whispered. “He didn’t die after all.”

  “Who?” Clara said.

  “He’s talking about your enemy,” a voice said behind them.

  Owen turned to see a man and a woman.

  “It’s him,” the woman said.

  On your feet,” the man said. He clearly held a weapon of some sort beneath his long coat.

  “Dad,” Clara said, “this is my friend. Don’t hurt him.”

  “He is no friend of yours or ours,” the woman said. “He means to destroy what we’ve worked to preserve.”

  Standing straight and staring at the woman, Owen fought the old, familiar feeling of smallness. “I’ve not come to destroy anything but the enemy. And I have no thoughts but safety for Clara.”

  “What have you tried to preserve, Mom?” Clara said.

  The woman looked pityingly at Clara, and Owen wondered if this was the way a real mother would treat her child.

  “Don’t you understand?” the woman said. “This one was sent to herald the coming of the new system. And if that is true, we lose everything.”

  “What could you possibly lose if the true King is on his throne?” Owen said.

  The man sneered. “Our daughter. She is to be returned to us.”

  “Returned?” Clara said.

  “We can’t possibly explain,” he snapped. “You must trust us.”

  Owen ran a hand through his hair, searching for words. “Clara, the other world I spoke of . . . I believe it is a mirror of sorts. I don’t understand it all yet, but these are not your real parents.”

  “Of course they are! I’ve grown up with them.”

  “Get away from her!” the man said, revealing a gun.

  Owen pulled the sword from his belt.

  “That won’t help you,” the man said.

  “It’s protected me from them,” Owen said, nodding toward the back door. Minions circled the window, peering in. “Clara, do you have any childhood memories of being taken away in the night, snatched by some being? Anything like that?”

  She looked astonished. “I have had dreams, nightmares—”

  “Don’t listen to him!” the woman said. “We are your parents, and we have sworn to protect you. Don’t let this scoundrel fill your head with nonsense.”

  “What were the dreams about, Clara?” Owen said.

  “I remember fire and terrible eyes.” A tear coursed down her cheek. “I thought it was simply a bad dream. I thought . . .” Owen could tell she had moved to a new realization. “But that really happened, didn’t it?”

  Owen nodded. “You were taken from the other world. The Lowlands.”

  “Preposterous!” the man shouted.

  “Shoot him!” the woman said.

  “For what purpose?” Clara said, her eyes locked on Owen’s.

  “For a destiny you do not yet know,” Owen said, voice trembling. “You are Clara in this world, but in the other—”

  An explosion rocked the room.

  The man moved like a phantom, seemingly unconcerned about the minions, coat flowing with the windstorm that brewed overhead. Why did the minions not attack him? Did they somehow sense his true identity?

  At first glance, this man looked like a lonely street person, a vagabond in search of a meal. But upon closer examination, a child could discern from the fiery eyes that something bigger, something much more important drew him.

  The man peered into the dimly lit dining room of the Briarwood Café, deliberately scanning the faces. Like a child passing over certain colors of jelly beans, he moved away. Did he not care for those inside? Did this scar-faced, coldhearted man just leave people to their fate?

>   He turned down Clara Secrest’s street as if he’d been there many times. He moved to the back and peeked into the small kitchen window just in time to see a flash and hear a loud pop.

  Clara screamed as he rushed in behind the man and woman, knocked the gun from the man’s hand, and kicked it away.

  Still holding his glowing sword before him, Owen had somehow suspended the bullet in midair a foot off the ground.

  The man couldn’t help but smile. Owen had grown into quite a young man since he had last seen him, since he had passed along The Book of the King.

  “Good work,” the man said.

  Owen slowly lowered the sword, and the bullet hit the tile with a clink and rolled.

  “You’ve learned to use the sword well,” the strange man said. It was Mr. Page.

  “I thought you were dead,” Owen whispered.

  The man gave a wry smile. “The news of my passing was greatly exaggerated.” He looked at Clara. “I hope I didn’t frighten you at the restaurant.”

  “Get out of our house,” the woman spat.

  Mr. Page faced the couple. “You have done a worthy job of protecting the girl,” he said, plainly working to control some emotion deep within. “However, your job is complete. I will care for her now.”

  “You?” the woman said. “By what authority? She doesn’t want anything to do with someone so hideous.”

  Mr. Page drew closer, and the woman shrank back. “First, she is not your daughter. You’ve known that all along. Second, I will not take orders from you. I have her best interests at heart and will see that she fulfills her destiny.”

  “Destiny?” Clara said.

  “All in good time,” Mr. Page said. “Let me get you to safety, and then we will discuss your future.”

  A buzzing sounded behind them as two minions streaked through the open door and attacked the man and woman, biting their necks.

  Mr. Page knocked the minions to the floor, swept them from the room, and closed the door. He grabbed Clara’s hand. “We must hurry.”

  Owen stood openmouthed until Mr. Page looked back. “Are you coming?”