by Sharon Hinck
Dad gave me a small grin that cracked open a cut on his lip again. “Ouch.” He plopped the frozen peas over his swollen eye.
“I think Mom usually wraps a dish towel around it first.” I grabbed a towel from the counter. It was stained with blood. I dropped it and wiped my hands on my jeans. “Should we bring food?”
Dad’s mouth twitched again. “Always thinking with your stomach.”
“Hey, last time I got pretty hungry before I found help.”
He stopped teasing me. “You’re right. Grab our backpacks and load up as if we’re going camping. And dig out the clothes we were wearing when we came back from Lyric.”
I tore around the house finding everything we might need. Dad’s sword was at the bottom of a bin in the attic. I didn’t have one—hadn’t been wearing one when Mom and Dad brought me home. I grabbed my Swiss army knife and hooked it onto my belt.
When I stopped back in the kitchen, Dad still looked bad. His eyes were closed, and his chest stuttered with each breath he took. He opened one eye. “Just some cracked ribs. I’ll be fine.”
I sat down next to him at the table. “Can I ask you something?”
He pulled away the bag of peas and gave me his full attention.
“When we came back, Mom said you . . . well, she was scared you were gonna die from going through the portal. She said it’s gotten worse each time for you.”
He didn’t deny it. “I blacked out. I don’t know why it affected me that way. So you need to be prepared in case it happens again.”
I sat up taller. “Sure. But aren’t you worried about going through right now? I mean, you’re kind of a mess.”
“Jake, we don’t know how many hours or days are passing over there. I don’t want too much time to go by. And the thought of your mom with Cameron and Medea . . .”
He couldn’t say any more, and I didn’t want him to. I looked at the mess of bruises on his face. He should be at the clinic, not planning a trip that could kill him. “Do we have some bandages in the first-aid kit? I could tape your ribs.”
He didn’t argue. “I think the first-aid kit is in Jon’s room. He was using the Ace bandages to make bridges between his Lego fortresses.”
I found them, hurried back to the kitchen, and started wrapping his ribs. I’d seen my coach do this once. But it was harder than it looked, and I kept fumbling the end of the bandage. “Dad, I don’t think I ever told you, but when I was camping outside of Lyric, I busted up my ankle. Bad. And we needed to get to Braide Wood. So Kieran . . . he healed it. Is that something Restorers are supposed to be able to do?”
I felt weird asking him about this. He’d been teaching me how to fight and telling me the history of the Restorers from his world. But it still didn’t seem very real . . . the whole thing about the signs.
He leaned forward. “I don’t know. It’s not the same each time. The Restorers always had the ability to heal from their injuries and had other gifts like strength and heightened senses. But they usually died in battle, and then years would go by before another one came along. Your mom didn’t die. She just stopped having the gifts, and Kieran became a Restorer. And some of his gifts might have been different.”
“Do you think Kieran lost his Restorer gifts when I found out I could heal fast?”
Dad looked worried. “I don’t know. If that’s true, I hope he figured it out before he let someone skewer him again.”
“Well, just in case I can do it”—my face felt hot, and I had to swallow—“can I pray for you to be healed?”
Dad looked startled, but he nodded and bowed his head. I thought back to Kieran resting his hands on my ankle and the heat that poured through them. I put my hands over the bandages taped around Dad’s ribs and closed my eyes.
“Dear God, thank You for saving us. We have to go find Mom, and Dad is in a lot of pain. Would You please heal his ribs and everything else that’s hurting? And help us find Mom fast. And take care of all the clans and don’t let Cameron cause too much trouble.” I waited for a while but didn’t feel anything special. I finally stammered an “amen” and let go of Dad, feeling stupid. His face was still beat-up, and it was obvious nothing had happened.
“Thanks, son.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders in a quick hug. “I’ve got a great idea.”
Relieved at the change in subject, I handed him his Council tunic.
He eased it on while he talked. “When I set up the stones, I lined them up wrong. I was hoping to delay Cameron and Medea. I’m not positive where they ended up. I was hoping Shamgar, like the first time your mom went through. But what if I set the stones up the right way now? We could get to Lyric first and warn Jorgen. We can even send word to Tristan and have plenty of help in stopping Cameron.”
“Great! Let’s go!” I handed him his sword belt.
“You wear it.”
My jaw dropped open. “You mean it?”
He nodded. “I’ll get one when we get to Lyric. Besides, the way I’m feeling right now, I don’t think I could lift it.”
I belted it on and made sure the sword rested at the right spot against my hip. I felt about ten feet tall.
We trudged back up to the attic, and Dad put the stones in the right places. He stood up and patted his pockets the way he checked for his car keys when he left home. “I left a note for Karen.”
“What?” Last time, we’d been gone for weeks and when we got back, only an hour had passed in our world. “She won’t be home for a week. You don’t think . . .”
Dad gave me his “serious” look. “The point is, I don’t know. I’m not sure how the time ratio works. And I’m not sure what will happen to us.”
He was being honest about the danger, but I wished he sounded more confident. Yeah, Mom was in trouble and all, but we’d take care of it. I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I was kind of excited for a chance to go back through the portal.
My desire to stay in Lyric had been planted by Medea—part of their trick to find the portal. But she had found a piece of truth to build that lie on. Deep in my bones, I felt a pull to help the People of the Verses.
And in some ways, their world made more sense to me than my own. I fit there.
“Ready?” Dad braced one hand against a dusty rafter.
I swallowed my thoughts and nodded. The portal hummed smoothly, without the wild crackling it had set off earlier. As we stepped forward, I had a moment to wonder what Dad had put in the note to Karen: “Dear Karen, sorry we weren’t there to pick you up from the band tour. Jake and I had to pop in to another universe to rescue your mom from a psycho chief councilmember and his mind-controlling ally. There’s a chicken hot dish in the freezer. Love, Dad”?
We stepped through, and there was a flash of disorientation. Then I recognized the trees from the grove outside Lyric. I turned to ask Dad what he really put in the note to Karen.
He wasn’t there.
I stood absolutely still. Was it taking him longer to get through? I was afraid to move—to do anything that might disturb the balance of the portal or the way it worked. Had he turned back for something? No, he’d been ahead of me.
He’d passed back and forth more than the rest of us, except maybe for Mom. But that last time, he almost hadn’t survived. Maybe the portal knew that and wouldn’t let him through anymore.
My hair still stood up at the roots from the tingling pull of electrical current. I had better go back to the attic and make sure he was all right.
Wait. What if people had only a limited number of times they could go back and forth? I should find Mom first. I didn’t want to be permanently stuck in our world. I had the signs of the Restorer, so I’d be needed here one day. Maybe even now.
I hated making decisions. Choosing what movie to go to was bad enough, or whether I wanted fries or onion rings, but this decision was serious. Dad might need my help. Mom defini
tely needed me, and so did the people in Lyric.
Dad, why aren’t you here to tell me what to do?
What was that verse Mom kept quoting when I was trying to pick which college to go to? “If any of you lacks wisdom . . .” I couldn’t remember the rest, but it probably had something to do with talking to God about it. She had drilled that into me my whole life.
I looked around the dense grove of trees. Then I did something I don’t normally do: I lowered myself onto a knee.
At our house, we prayed sitting around the supper table, or sometimes we held hands in the living room and prayed. When I was little, my mom or dad would rest a hand on my head and pray while I curled up in bed ready to sleep. But this time it felt wrong to stand around as if ordering at a fast-food counter. So I knelt, bowed my head, and let my hand rest on my sword hilt.
“God, it’s Jake. I’m here, but I don’t know where Dad is. Should I go back or should I go forward? What do You want me to do?”
I just thought about Him. I shut out my own urges and fears, my intelligent and not-so-intelligent plans. And then I waited.
It wasn’t easy. At first my thoughts babbled like my sister Anne when she’s had too much sugar. I kept brushing the chatter aside. After a few minutes had passed, I felt a hand settling on my shoulder. I glanced behind me, thinking it was Dad, but no one was there. Closing my eyes, I dropped my head again. My heart sped up. God was everpresent, and that knowledge had always comforted me. But knowing He was this close was a little scary, too.
It’s not like I saw anything or heard a real voice like Kieran used to. That guy had freaked me out when I first met him—talking to someone I couldn’t hear—until I figured out that he was praying. Well, except for the times he was cursing under his breath.
No, nothing that tangible. But the hand that touched me was a lot like my dad’s: reassuring, affirming. And then my heart turned toward Lyric like a compass needle floating north.
“Okay. I think You want me to go forward. Let me know if I’m hearing You wrong.” I waited a little longer.
This wasn’t the way our youth group leader told us to make decisions. Yeah, we were supposed to pray about it, but we were also supposed to “search the Scriptures” and “seek wise counsel.” I opened my eyes and looked around the woods. Other than a few blue-feathered moths, I didn’t see anyone to ask for advice.
Mom needed help. I’d been sent. That’s what I had to go on right now. Dad had always looked out for our family and handled every crisis, but he wasn’t here right now.
I drew a shaky breath, the way I used to when the doctor needed to draw bone marrow to check my platelets. That memory gave me a little courage. I’d beaten cancer. I wasn’t a wimp.
Pretending confidence—with no one to appreciate it but the smooth-trunked trees—I started the short hike toward Lyric. I’d follow Dad’s plan. I’d tell Jorgen what had happened and send word to Tristan.
When I stepped out of the woods, I studied the rolling hills off in the direction of Corros. A few fuzzy caradoc grazed, but otherwise the fields were deserted. We’d been back in our world for over a month. Had minutes passed here? Or years? A shiver ran through me. What if Jorgen wasn’t alive anymore—or anyone else I could trust?
I looked ahead at Lyric. The worship tower gleamed in the pale grey light. Must still be early morning. I had lived here long enough to figure out the slight variations that marked the passing of each day. A thick low atmosphere always hid the sky. No one in this world had ever seen a sun or moon or stars.
I grinned as I drew closer to the marble-white city. Jon would have had a hard time building a Lego model of this place. The city was surrounded by a huge wall that rippled like a clamshell. I knew doors hid in some of the scalloped curves, but I didn’t have a scrambler for the locks, so I circled around to the main gate. My fears left. There was something so firm and confident about this place, as if it had always been here and always would be. Tara told me it was the place where the One came to live. They believed that the One was everywhere, just like I did, but this was His special place. A surge of joy ran through me. If I’d been at home, I would have grabbed my notebook and written a song about it.
None of my friends knew about the notebook. I’d shown it to Mom once. It made her cry, which I figured was a good sign. I never let anyone else see it. But in this place, I bet no one would laugh at a poem about the One and the way Lyric shimmered in the morning light. By the time I rounded the corner to approach the main gate, I had already come up with a few lines:
In the morning light, alone
May this tower always stand,
A tribute to Your guidance
And the comfort of Your hand.
Then I drew closer to the tunnel that led into the city. Something had changed. I rested my hand on my sword. No crowds of people milled in and out. No chatting or laughter bounced off the stone. Instead, a half-dozen guardians blocked the entrance. Not Lyric guardians either—these were Council guards. Rust tunics, leather vests, grim faces. Council guards who were loyal to Cameron. I took a deep breath and approached them.
“I need to get into the city.” I tried to act casual.
“No entries permitted today,” one of them said with a glare.
“Okay, but I need to talk to the chief councilmember from Rendor. It’s important.”
That surprised a laugh from the man, and he glanced at the other soldiers. They shook their heads and grinned. I didn’t see what was so funny.
“I don’t know where you’ve been, but you’d better run home to your parents,” the guard said. I would have bristled at the insult, except what he said next sapped all the nerve from my bones. “There is no Council.”
Chapter
7
Susan
As I slowly clawed my way back to consciousness, I felt damp moss against my face. It took another minute to figure out that I was sprawled facedown on the ground. My body didn’t appreciate the experience of being tumbled in a huge blender. Every part of me ached and throbbed.
With tremendous effort, I pushed myself up and looked around. Cameron was stirring but must have been knocked out as well. Medea was completely limp. I couldn’t be sure she was even alive, and I didn’t care enough to find out.
Stupid, conniving, evil pair. They couldn’t be content with Mark opening the portal? Why did they drag me through?
I stumbled to my feet and looked for landmarks. The terrain around us was barren. At first glance, we seemed to be surrounded by vast empty beaches, but instead of sand, small grey pebbles covered the ground. The air tasted like the sharp hint of mold when rain pooled in our garage. Smooth larger rocks offered the only variation in color with their clinging patches of grey-green moss. I had the uneasy feeling that all kinds of creepy crawlies lurked beneath those rocks. Even the miles of tiny pebbles seemed to ripple occasionally as if a living current moved beneath the earth.
We weren’t near Lyric. During past visits, those pearl towers had become as familiar as my own church. And these grey expanses didn’t resemble the primordial forests of Braide Wood or the rolling farmland of Morsal Plains. I also didn’t recognize any places I’d seen in Hazor. Maybe this wasn’t even the same world.
Terror shook off some of the pain in my bruised body. Wherever this was, I needed to get away from Cameron and Medea.
Lord, which way do I go?
Far in the distance, hills butted against the horizon. In the opposite direction, vast splatters of white dotted the grey land amid low, irregular mounds. The formless lumps brought back memories of burnt-marshmallow smells and deserted streets. My pulse quickened. Those distant shapes might be the crumbling homes of Shamgar. I could find my way back to the inhabited parts of the clans from there.
I staggered a few steps forward, my tennis shoes shifting under me on the loose stones. I’d covered only a short di
stance, when heavy feet pounded from behind me. Without looking back, I tried to run, but my legs slipped out from under me as if I were sprinting up a down escalator. My feet couldn’t get the traction they needed. Brutal hands crashed into my back and knocked me to the ground. I twisted, sitting on the pebbles and scrabbling backward.
Cameron’s dark eyebrows slammed together as he confronted me. “Where are we?” He wasn’t even breathing hard. How had he caught up so easily?
“I don’t know.”
Towering over me, he raised a threatening hand.
I rolled to the side and got my feet back under me. I came up in a crouch and faced him, wishing for my sword but determined to hold him off even without it. I’d once known how to fight. I pretended I still could.
Cameron advanced, his face twisted in a snarl. “What game is he playing, sending us here?” His chest swelled and color rose on his face, similar to the irrational fury of a two-year-old who didn’t get the toy he wanted. Fists raised, I prepared to protect myself but doubted I’d last long. He reached for me and probably would have killed me then, but a hand touched his shoulder and he paused. Medea had glided up behind him.
Her skin was pale beneath her auburn curls, but she was smiling. Cameron turned to her, and the tension melted from his shoulders. His burst of temper almost seemed to refresh Medea. She sighed as if she had taken a cool drink of water.
“Thank you”—she stepped closer to him—“but you promised her to me.”
He hesitated a few seconds, then nodded.
My breath escaped from tight lungs. I couldn’t follow the undercurrents of their conversation, but I’d absorbed one crucial fact: Cameron wasn’t going to beat me into the ground at the moment. He grabbed my arm and pulled me along as we made our way back to the bags.
“I recognize this place,” Medea told him. “It’s part of Hazor, but the clay fields are near. The way she was running.” I felt a moment of startled pride. In spite of my poor navigational skills, I had actually set out in the right direction.
