The Word Guardians: and the Battle for the Peacekeepers

by Lawrence Yarham

  “Just look for the clues, Yas.”

  She jumped in surprise. She realized that whatever this was, it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. She turned the key in the door and went inside.

  Chapter 3

  Victorian London

  Yas arrived at the bookstore a little before three-thirty on Monday. It was a little colder, so she had opted to wear jeans along with her trademark black t-shirt and jacket. Knowing that she was going to be moving around more, she had her phone in her jeans back pocket and had left her bag at home.

  Sam was also working at the library after school, so they had walked together as usual. He had wanted to talk about the realms, but Yas was still wary about indulging him. She didn’t want to give false hope. Instead, their conversation drifted from school classes to his frustrations at home with Vickers.

  They reached the library and Sam went in while Yas headed across the square to the bookstore. Yas opened the door and went inside. McVale was at the sales counter and came over to greet her. The door closed and McVale turned the open sign to closed, locking the door behind her.

  “You’re closed?” questioned Yas. It seemed a little odd.

  McVale though had other ideas about the topic of conversation. “How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m really okay, thanks,” replied Yas, thinking correctly that McVale was referring to her fall on Saturday. “Honestly, I feel fine, now.”

  “Good, good,” McVale replied absent-mindedly, moving to the sofa and sitting down. The book that was a gift from Yas’s grandpa was resting next to her. She gestured to Yas to sit on the other side of it.

  Yas was puzzled. This was very different to what she had been expecting. She sat down, glancing at the book. There was something else on top of it. She couldn’t quite make out what it was quickly, but there was a cord, like a necklace.

  McVale saw that Yas had noticed and she picked the cord up. A pendant dangled from it.

  “This was your grandfather’s,” she said.

  “My grandpa’s?” Yas asked. “I never remember him having anything like this.”

  “He did, but he kept it hidden,” smiled McVale. She looked quite pleased with herself for a moment. “Oh, we had some adventures together.”

  McVale offered the necklace to Yas. She took it and examined it closely. It consisted of a black leather cord with a small, black, dice like cube hanging from it. The pendant had separate symbols carved into each face, in light grey. Straight away, a triangle symbol seemed the most conspicuous. She looked up again at McVale.

  “This looks similar to the one from my... err... dream? On the door in the tree?”.

  “Yes,” replied McVale. “I thought it might. As I said, it was your grandfathers. Now its yours.”

  Yas studied the faces of the pendant further. There were three others that she could make out. A square and a circle, similar in style to the triangle, and another symbol of columns and a roof, like a museum sign. Two faces were charred and scratched making it difficult to determine the symbol. It seemed an odd gift, a damaged, second-hand necklace but it was significant to Yas because of the personal connection. Or at least, that’s how this was being presented to her.

  “My parents never mentioned anything to me about this,” Yas replied. She held the necklace in her hand. “What can you tell me about these adventures?”

  McVale ignored her and continued. “I remembered the pendant and the museum symbol after our talk on Saturday. I believe it relates to the library realms.”

  “Library realms?” Yas recalled what they talked about after her dream on Saturday. “The Custodians?”

  “Quite,” McVale acknowledged quickly. “The thing is, I’ve not been able to get the merest hint of a doorway open since your grandfather...” She paused. Her eyes reflected sadness for a moment. Yas figured that she was referring to his disappearance. She tapped the book with her fingers.

  “Anyway, it occurred to me that you might hold the key?” McVale said, the sadness gone. “Figuratively speaking.”

  “Me?” asked Yas. She didn’t like the sound of that. First Sam, now McVale wanting help to get into realms. What was happening?

  “Yes,” replied McVale, confidently. “After your visit to the forest on Saturday.”

  Yas felt as though she was being dragged into this. She looked at the necklace and then back at McVale. She wasn’t sure what to think. “I don’t know,” was all she managed.

  “Put it on,” urged McVale, completely ignoring her once again. “It will help.”

  “Help with what?”

  McVale picked up the book and started to turn through different pages. “Finding a doorway to the British Museum, dear.”

  “The British Museum?” questioned Yas. “As, like, the one in London, England?”

  “Yes,” said McVale matter-of-factly. “In Victorian times, the British Museum was a key collector of artefacts from all over the world. In fact, The British Library was only separated from the Museum late in the 20th century, so I believe its an ideal place for us to seek a Custodian.” She nodded at the necklace that Yas was still holding.

  Yas looked at it again. It felt odd to wear something of her grandpa’s, especially that it didn’t fit with the person she remembered him being. Perhaps she just needed to accept a different view of him. She figured that talking further with McVale would provide that. With the resolve made, Yas put the necklace on over her head and tucked it under her T-shirt.

  “Good,” said McVale, approvingly, handing her the book. “I’ve bookmarked a few pages of interest. Why don’t you take a look?”

  “Okay?” replied Yas, uncertainly. “What am I looking for?”

  “Just skim and read, dear,” McVale nodded to urge her to open it. “We’ll know when you’ve found something.”

  Yas wondered what it was that McVale was expecting. She herself didn’t know. She nodded to McVale and turned her attention to the book. It was interesting, certainly. A collection of history, the cover was adorned with visual snippets of many cultures. She opened the book at the first bookmark and started to skim read. Stories from history always interested her, and this first piece didn’t disappoint. It was about the establishment of the British Museum in 1753. It was said to be based largely on donations of a well-known Irish physicist and scientist of the time. Yas was drawn into the text and it took her a few moments to realise that McVale was watching her impatiently.

  She looked up at McVale and then took the hint that she was to move onto the next bookmark, so she did. This next piece also related to a place in Victorian England, and it was also a museum. The double page spread described The Great Exhibition in Hyde Park, London, 1851, in a building erected especially for the purpose. Again, Yas was fascinated about the story of how this came about and what it signified for the age. Science, engineering and natural history exhibits that, together with the proceeds of sales of visitor tickets, helped found other museums that were still in London today. Again, she was drawn into the story. She could understand why her grandpa would have found this interesting.

  Her reverie was interrupted by a gentle movement of air past her, as if someone had just closed the shop door behind her. She knew this wasn’t the case though, because McVale had locked it. She looked up anyway to double check and was surprised by what she saw.

  “Woah!” she said in shock. “What’s that?” she said pointing. McVale was smiling back at her.

  “Ahh,” McVale said, triumphantly. “Well done!”

  In front of them, was a large glowing outline. It stood floor to head height, and was rectangular in shape, obscuring the end of the aisle behind it. The outside edge was yellow and white and fizzed and popped, like mini fireworks, while in the center there seemed to be something akin to water, causing a rippling sensation. It was accompanied by a gentle hum, which Yas had only just become aware of. There was an image behind the water that was distorted by the rippling effect. All Yas could tell was that the colours were greyer, col
der and darker, unlike the soft, warm, lighting in the shop. There was the suggestion of an outline, perhaps a building.

  “Don’t be afraid,” reassured McVale. “It’s a doorway,” she said as if it were a commonplace event.

  Yas couldn’t believe what she was looking at. “Yes, but to where?”

  “To a realm, dear,” answered McVale, patting her hand. “From the page you were reading, I would hope this is a doorway through to Victorian London.” McVale nodded approvingly and motioned for Yas to hand her the book. Yas did so and McVale glanced down at it, then placed it still open on the sofa between them.

  McVale continued, “It was a key time for the British Empire, collecting things of interest from all over the world.” She stood up. “Now – its important that we leave the book open.”

  “Why?” asked Yas warily, following McVale’s cue and standing up.

  “That way the door will be unlocked when we return,” explained McVale.

  “What if its not?”

  “Well then, we’ll cross that bridge if we have to.”

  “What?” asked Yas, not really understanding at all. But before Yas could question her further, McVale offered her arm for Yas to slip hers through.

  “Shall we?” McVale suggested, nodding at the doorway.

  “Go through?” Yas questioned. “Now?” The inevitability of doing that suddenly hit her.

  “Don’t worry so much,” offered McVale. “You won’t so concerned when you fell into the forest on Saturday?”

  “That was a dream though,” Yas defended.

  “Was it though?”

  “But it wasn’t real, was it?” Yas was conflicted. Everything up until yesterday informed her that realms were an imaginary thing. Now, someone that she respected, was challenging that view. She felt like she was being forced to reconsider what was real and what was not.

  “I’ll be right here beside you,” McVale soothed, holding up her arm again. Reluctantly, Yas slipped her arm through, and moved forwards with McVale. The humming and fizzing became louder, and as they neared the surface, it became the sole focus of the room. Yas’s natural instinct was to hold her head back, to somehow try and resist it, but with McVale pulling her gently forwards, she realised that she couldn’t. She stepped over the threshold and reached tentatively for a foothold the other side.

  There was a ‘whoosh’ and a sense of acceleration and deceleration, much like stepping onto and off one of those moving walkways at an airport in quick succession. Everything around her changed but somehow, she felt as though she was still in the shop, or very close to it.

  They had arrived on the corner of a cobbled street and pavement, under the light from a lamppost. The building behind them contained the outline of the door and a distorted image of the shop beyond. The surface of the doorway rippled back and forth, like disturbed water. McVale motioned that they step away from the wall, and as they did so, the door outline faded from view.

  “It will be there again when we need it,” she reassured. “Your necklace will grow warm each time you are near a doorway.”

  Now that McVale had mentioned it, the pendant did feel warmer against Yas's skin than she would have otherwise expected. She took it out of her T-shirt to examine it. She could feel the warmth from it.

  Above them, on the wall of the house that they had emerged from, was a sign indicating that this was Hyde Park Gardens. The sights, sounds and smells confirmed that this was also from the Victorian period. It was a similar time of day to that in the shop, but a light grey fog hung in the air along with an unclean, half-burnt, city smell.

  People were going about their business. Couples were walking along the street, and horse drawn carriages were ferrying others to their destinations. The sudden appearance of the two of them went unnoticed. That surprised Yas. Perhaps the fog had shielded them somehow, she wondered. Like the forest realm, what was around her seemed very real.

  “Ahh,” said McVale next to her. “Well done, Yas,” she congratulated. “Mid nineteenth century, I would guess. Around the time of the Great Exhibition, hence that over there in Hyde Park.” McVale pointed across the greenery and trees to the outline of a large building, part shrouded in the grey. Yas recognised it from the book, but if McVale had not pointed it out she probably would have missed it.

  “So, from what I remember, the British Museum should be this way.” She indicated to her left and then started walking in that direction. Yas followed, taking in the sights and sounds.

  They moved from the corner of the building and along the street opposite to the Park. Yas was amazed by what she saw.

  “So, this is a realm?” she asked.

  “Very much so,” replied McVale. “And one I have visited with your grandfather. Yes, its all coming back to me.”

  “Mornin,” called a man who was walking quickly towards them. He tipped his hat.

  “Good morning,” replied McVale, giving the man a smile. Yas nodded nervously also in acknowledgement, then turned and looked at him once he had passed.

  “So, they’re real and they can see us then?”

  “Yes,” replied McVale. “Most are actors, playing out a storyline in response to the intentions of readers.”

  “Intentions?” enquired Yas.

  “Absolutely,” continued McVale. “Intentions are the images and actions we imagine in our mind’s eye as we read. The actors are created or are coerced into performing whatever it is that we, the readers, imagine for them. The same is true in dreams in some respect, although there is a lesser connection.”

  Three storey buildings lined the side of the street they were walking along. The park and the exhibition building on the other side disappeared away into the mist more as they headed north. A wall of buildings emerged up ahead of them. The feel of the place indicated that it was an upmarket area of London. There were some business fronts on the ground floor of some of the buildings, but others were just residential.

  “Woah!” exclaimed Yas, as she watched an ethereal person appear in the street ahead of them and float in their direction.

  “Readers,” McVale replied matter-of-factly, stepping aside for the ghostly person to pass between them.

  “So, they don’t see us?”

  “They have a ghostly presence here because they are present in the outer realm, explained McVale.”

  “The real world, you mean?”

  “Yes,” replied McVale. “You sound like your mother.”

  “Sorry,” replied Yas, not really sure what she was apologising for.

  “No need,” dismissed McVale with a wave of her hand. “You have her determinedness and your grandfather’s sense of curiosity, rolled into one. I believe it will serve you well.”

  McVale continued, switching topics again. “The human mind has a great ability to ignore things that don’t make sense. On some level readers do see everything, but they are expecting to see a particular story play out in their mind’s eye, and so they ignore anything else that doesn’t fit.”

  Yas heard children’s laughter somewhere above her and looked up, straining her eyes against the fog. She glimpsed children flying, holding hands, before they disappeared over a rooftop.

  “We each imagine things slightly differently,” explained McVale. “To a reader, the realm offers Victorian London. Different stories, different paintings of scenes can be played out here, without a reader of one book consciously aware of what another is reading or seeing in their mind’s eye.”

  “Like theatre stages?” asked Yas, remembering something her grandpa had said to her a long time ago. “So, the realms are a collection of stages on which different stories can be played out by readers?”

  “Yes, quite so,” confirmed McVale. She seemed pleased that her student was understanding how the realms worked. “They may not always be geographically or historically accurate, but the realm provides a gathering place for the most read stories. “Look up there,” she pointed to a rooftop further up the street, where chimney smoke bill
owed upwards and characters were dancing.

  As they moved away from the park, Yas looked around with renewed interest. She was intrigued to see what other stories she could spot. Either side of them were more business fronts and shops, with two or three floors above. Occasionally also, there were steps leading down into basement dwellings.

  Up ahead, at the entrance to an alley, police were gathered around someone who was still on the ground. They caught glimpses of a plain clothes detective bending over, wearing a distinctive hat. Several ethereal readers floated about the scene.

  “Is that?” Yas pointed.

  “Yes,” replied McVale. “You know your fiction.”

  “So,” started Yas, trying to understand what she was seeing. “These stories are being played out here... for what reason?”

  “We don’t know for sure,” started McVale, as they walked past the scene. “From the earliest times, stories have been shared as a means of connecting people. The realms have a definite construct for the readers. For others, they are a place where ideas can be exchanged.”

  “Like talking with a tree?” asked Yas, thinking of her experience on Saturday. She was coming to the realisation that it was not a dream after all. Sam was right. She couldn’t wait to tell him, but felt a pang of guilt for not believing him.

  “Absolutely,” replied McVale. “In ancient cultures, access to this information was considered to be spiritual. Dream time, shamanic, angelic, saintly and many other terms. Its possible that some or all are interpretations, we just don’t know enough about the mechanics. Unfortunately, leaps in knowledge of the underlying workings tend to happen only when Controllers are trying to exploit something. And that’s always a worry.”

  “Controllers?” asked Yas.

  “Yes,” continued McVale. “And that’s why we need Guardians, to help protect against those who want to use the realms for their own purposes.”

  Yas realised that she had started to feel drops of water and she looked around. “Rain?” she interrupted, holding her hand out to feel the drops.