by Danny Lasko
“We’ll be inside,” says Tommy. “Do your thing.”
“You really are a handsome man,” says Annie, brushing imaginary somethings off my shirt.
“Wouldn’t be anything to celebrate if it weren’t for you.” I lay my hand on hers. “I hate to admit it, but I’d given up on the game. I panicked. You brought me back.”
“Well, I always knew you were chicken.”
“B’gawk.”
I lean in, waiting for the sweet caress and taste of her lips.
“You can’t ignore this,” says an all-too-familiar voice coming from somewhere in the dark. I search the skies for an answer as to why this is happening. But even the dimmed stars are mocking me.
There may be twenty feet of air between Linus and me, and every inch is filled with contempt.
“Okay, boys, let’s not get crazy,” says Annie, stepping between us. “Linus, maybe now’s not the best time.”
“Do you honestly think I am enjoying this? Horatio needs to hear what I have to say.”
“Go away, Linus,” I tell him, refusing to remember what happened at the game.
“Before it was just me trying to remind you of who you are. You’ve ignored the Children of Hamelin most of your life, but you are one of us. Today changes things. It came to your field, to your game. And while I can’t even fathom the reasons why, he’s coming for you, Horatio. He has come to extend the Call.”
The memories and the voices of my past connect while Linus lectures me. The Call. My ears are ringing. I hold my head to try and keep out the agitating tone. The choke in my throat, the stone in my gut, I feel the air getting thicker around me.
“The descendants of the Children of Hamelin have been preparing—”
“Stop,” I tell him, pushing back against the anger kicking inside me. “Do not talk to me about Hamelin. Do not talk to me about the Pied Piper or the Call or anything else your freak mind wants to believe!”
“Horatio!” calls Annie.
“It isn’t some outrageous religion, Horatio! It’s reality! Your parents—”
“My parents! Okay, we’re done.” I leap up, pass Annie’s outstretched hands and make for trouble.
“Horatio, please,” Annie calls again.
“You have to turn around, Horatio. You have to see the evidence—”
“Linus, seriously, am I going to have to force you to shut up? Is that what it’s going to take?” I grab the lapels of his shirt and jerk him close to my face, hoping to scare the guy into submission. Problem is, he’s not looking at me.
“If you won’t listen to me,” Linus says, gazing over my shoulder, “maybe you’ll listen to him.” I twist around, and standing halfway between this side of the road and the other is a short, stubby man with wispy white hair and a golden glimmer that flashes when he smiles.
4
Delivery
“A DAY TO BE REMEMBERED, HORATIO GAPH.”
My knees buckle at the sound of my name. The stubby man holds out a package wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with an extraordinary golden string. “By the most special delivery,” he says, extending his arms so the box is now directly in front of my waist. My hands shake as I reach out for it. It’s heavier than it looks.
“The Call has been extended. I shall anticipate your acceptance.” The messenger’s golden glimmer hits me one last time before he turns and fades into the darkness, leaving me with something I know I do not want. And the best I can do is sigh.
“Horatio,” I hear Annie whisper.
“Annie,” I call, pushing the parcel into Linus’s chest before taking Annie’s hand. “Look, don’t even worry about this. I promise you, I have nothing to do with this. It’s a mistake.”
“He knew you by name.”
I can’t explain this. All I can do is end it. I grab the parcel from Linus, who hasn’t taken his eyes from it since it appeared, and head across an empty field to Lavon Lake.
“Where are you going?” cries Linus.
“Getting rid of this thing right now.”
“You can’t! You—I can’t let you!”
Linus’s impish frame bounces off my back. I don’t even turn around.
“Annie, do something!” he cries. I smirk. One of the many things I love about Annie is her level head, her reasonable sense. She’s not about to—
“Raysh?” she asks, almost like she is going to ask me something she already knows I have no interest in doing. I fight against it, but just the sound of my name in her voice weakens me. I push forward, dragging one foot in front of the other toward the edge of the lake.
“Raysh, maybe we should at least see what the Grey has delivered.”
My legs freeze to the ground. All they let me do is turn my head to the side, but the fear in my chest prevents me from looking Annie in the eye.
“Did you,” I stutter, “did you just call him the Grey?”
I don’t notice the paper-wrapped parcel fall to the damp, mossy earth below me. I don’t remember how we got to Annie’s house, only a comment about it being the closest. I don’t remember being sat in the Walkers’ living room on the Walkers’ plaid couch or when the parcel was placed on the coffee table right in front of me. I sort of remember being offered cocoa, a Mr. Walker specialty and a complete rarity in Allen. I don’t remember who called my mother or when she showed up with three sleepy daughters in tow.
I know there are words being spoken around me, but I don’t know who’s saying them or whom they’re being said to or what they’re about. And I’m not the least bit interested because I already know they’re not about the only thing stuck in my brain.
“Did you win the game?” asks a voice into my left ear, a voice that’s probably a little too high-pitched for a grown man. I swirl my head, finally landing on a face with a yellow goatee and short blond hair. It’s my father, Alistair Gaph.
“What?”
“Did you win the game?”
“Yeah, we, uh, yeah, we won.”
“Congratulations. Must feel good.”
I’ve never gotten used to his cowboy boots and faded denim jacket, mostly because he looks so unlike the cowboys in the movies he adores: fine, yellow hair balding in the front and pale skin. His nose is small and pinched at the bridge leaving a little too much room between his large blue eyes. My mom says it’s his smile and his heart that makes him the best man she knows. Which is funny, because those are the things that annoy me the most. At least he left the hat at home.
“The girls went right to sleep,” announces Mrs. Walker, returning from somewhere in the back.
The break in thought gives me a chance to look around. It’s not just Annie’s and my parents here. Braxton and Genevieve Sob have joined their only son, whose grin is so massive, I scoot over to make room.
“I don’t get it,” I say to myself.
“It’s alright, son,” replies my father, who seems to think I was talking to him. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” All I can do is gawk at the pious grin on his face and hold myself back from whacking it off of him.
“Linus,” says my father, “looks like Horatio needs reminding.”
“I’ve tried to remind him for the past four years,” Linus says, trying hopelessly to restrain his giddiness. “It’s like talking to a rock.” He stands up and starts pacing the room. “Horatio, haven’t you ever wondered why you can do the things you do? Why you’re stronger and faster than most others? Or see the consequences of your actions before you actually act? The story of the Pied Piper is not just a story. It’s history,” he begins in the same teacher tone he uses in his presentations. “Everyone knows the Pied Piper led the Children of Hamelin away. What they do not know is what happened to them. No one knows for sure because the story, as has been told for centuries and recently by your friend Tommy, is
wrong. The Piper didn’t lead them out of Hamelin. He led them to it.”
I sense a pause in Linus’s words, but only half-listening, I can’t be sure what’s going on. Either way, he decides to continue after a moment.
“From where, you ask? From a marvelous world of hope and miracles. Of enchantment and possibility. A world so close and yet so far from here that its existence has fallen into fairy tale and legend. A place where the tales used to scare children or put them to sleep actually took place, including the story of the Pied Piper.
“The Pied Piper. What a condescending label it has become for such a powerful being. See, he took a wasteland and turned it into a paradise. He called it Mira.”
Now I know there’s a pause. A long one. Ridiculously reverent and overdramatic. Linus stares off as if he’s searching for this other world of which he speaks, but all he sees is pain and frustration and the cracked walls of Allen.
“But,” he says, coming back, “just as with all desirable things, there were those who feared it or wanted control of the whole of it. Wanted credit for it. Wanted to exploit it and even destroy it. The Shadow Clan, a mysterious and dangerous collection of villains who wanted nothing more than to blot out the sun with their dominance. The Piper appointed princes to protect Mira, but it wasn’t enough. The Piper called for all the inhabitants to defend themselves against the Shadow Clan. Many refused—some out of fear, others apathy, still many others who feasted on the Shadow’s sweet promises if they but followed. And though there were those who passionately committed everything to Mira’s defense, they were still hopelessly weak. The princes fell. And the Pied Piper was left with last resorts.
“The ruin of Mira was imminent and arguably justified, given the vanity and ignorance of its people. But the Piper would not let his beloved home nor its people fall into the Shadow’s grasp. In one glorious act and with the great power he wielded, he struck down the Shadow Clan. But in doing so, he, too, was lost.
“He knew the toll the battle would take. He also knew that despite his great victory, the Shadow Clan would eventually rise again and, without the Piper or the princes to defend Mira, conquer unabated. And so, shortly before his triumph over the vermin of the Shadow Clan, the Piper collected one hundred thirty-one children from all the lands of Mira, of every race, creed, and color, and he gave them each a portion of what he called the Soul of Mira, a power that would finally lay waste to all Mira’s villains, including the Shadow Clan, no matter how powerful they would again become. He led all the children but one through a Looking Glass, a portal that transported them here, to this world, far from the Shadow Clan’s reach.”
“It’s more like a part of the same world, only hidden from the rest of it,” corrects my father.
“Like Wonderland or Oz,” says Mr. Walker. “At least that’s how it was explained to me.”
“The Piper told the children of his impending sacrifice and of the certain resurgence of evil when he was gone,” continues Linus, almost completely ignoring the interruption. “He gave the Children a record of Mira’s history and instructions to never forget where they came from. Then he gave them the charge to protect the Soul, to nurture it until it was ready to once again be reformed and brought to Mira’s defense. Around 1284 AD, six score and ten children wandered from the woods near the small village of Hamelin.
“That is why you can see the immediate consequence of your actions. Why I can play any instrument. Why your father can bend the laws of physics with his inventions. Why—”
“Annie sings,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Yes,” says Linus. “And why this box sits before you now. Finally. Twenty generations later. Horatio,” says Linus, placing his hands on the box, “we’re being called home. And you’ve been asked to open the way.”
Linus’s words sit heavy in the air, drifting and fading, echoing in my ears, none of them answering the real questions I have.
“When did you know?” I ask, still staring at nothing in front of me.
“We’ve studied it all our lives, son,” answers my father.
“Before or after you met me?” I ask, barely hearing him. I finally pull my eyes up to Annie Walker, my girlfriend, my hope and future, whom I trust completely. At least I want to. Her emerald eyes fix back at me. No smile. No guilt. Just fixed.
“After,” she says.
I nod, get up, leaving my parents, the Sobs—especially Linus—the Walkers, and that damnable box in the living room, and step out to the backyard, a place I love. Mr. Walker, Dennis, is a licensed landscape artist, who passed his trials and is sought after by the most significant Citizens. But he moved his family back to the lo-pry while his daughter attended academy. It’s allowed, but few families make the choice, mostly because if your child fails, none of you can return to a Citizen city. His own garden, however, may be his masterpiece. Beautiful decks, walkways, fountains, and porches, yes. But the foliage is breathtaking. It’s like everything’s greener. Flowers are brighter and bloom longer. Trees, plants, and shrubs grow in a pattern and style that I can’t describe other than it looks like it belongs in a fairy tale. At night, his gardens are beyond magical. He has plants and bushels of flowers that actually light up in a tempered glow in colors I didn’t even know existed. Usually I’d be in awe. But tonight it’s just more evidence that everyone in there is telling the truth.
The back door whistles open. I would know the sound of Annie’s footsteps, the scent of her skin, the brush of her blouse, the tone of her breathing, the song in her voice. I can hear it miles away. I can hear it in my sleep.
“Do you know where I was when I first heard you?” I ask her as she slides up next to me on the deck railing.
“Heard me?”
“Yeah. When I first heard you sing. Did I ever tell you where I was?”
“No.”
“I was at practice,” I tell her. “At the academy. I asked if anyone else was hearing it. They just looked at me like I was nuts. I left practice and ran through the streets until I found you, right here. I heard your song from three and a half miles away.”
“No, you’ve never told me that.”
“I suppose I was trying to ignore that part.”
“Your mother told us,” she explains after waiting to see if I was finished. “She tracked our family tree and found out my parents were PureHearts, direct descendants of the original Children. She says that’s pretty common, two PureHearts finding each other even when they didn’t know what they were looking for.”
I rub my face, trying to see through the cloud of crazy.
“They aren’t who you think they are,” I tell her.
“Who do you think I think they are?”
“You’re right. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I think,” she says, leaning onto the deck ledge next to me, “the Children of Hamelin have incredible power. I’ve seen miraculous healings. I’ve seen fire and water dance together. One of them sees the future,” she says with a nudge. “They could have taken over the world. But instead, they’ve dedicated themselves to protecting the power with which they’ve been entrusted until the time comes for them to give it back. Give the power back, Horatio! Who does that in a world like this? All to save millions of people they don’t even know.”
“At what expense?”
“What do you mean?”
I decide I don’t want to talk about it after all.
“So you’re with them.”
“I am. Because of them I know who I am.”
“Then why did you stay with me? You must have known I wasn’t a part of this, right?”
“I love how much you care about Allen,” she says, taking my hand and wrapping her fingers among mine. “I have never seen you turn away someone who needed help, no matter how small. The way you play The Escape, you’re not playing for you. You ar
e always playing for them. You are their champion. I wish I could explain to you how it sounds to watch you play.”
“And how does it sound to watch the Children of Hamelin, the healers, the fire makers, the water, you know, controllers hide away in a garden or whatever instead of helping the people here?”
Her emerald eyes bounce the moonlight into my own. She doesn’t want to fight. But I’m not sure I can keep it together.
“You said it yourself,” I continue. “They could have taken over the world. At least defend it. They’ve been around like a thousand years, and they’ve just ignored the world, all while hiding behind some ‘sacred’ promise to protect the very power that could have delivered it! They chose a world they’ve never seen—that maybe doesn’t even exist anymore—over the only world they’ve ever known! They chose a myth over their neighbors, Annie. Think about that! Ames deserves a fairy tale, too, Annie. And I can give it to them.”
“Allen,” she says finally.
“What?”
“You said Ames.”
“I’m sorry you got mixed up in this,” I say, trying to ignore my mistake. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the Children as soon as I knew you were probably one of them. I should have known they would have found out and tried to convince you. Mira isn’t real, Annie. The Children, the way they describe them, aren’t real. You need to trust me on this.”
“I trust you,” she says, placing her hands on my chest. “I trust your heart is good. I trust the Grey made the right choice when he brought the Call to you. In fact, there is no one I would trust more with the fate of two worlds. It’s a question of faith. And for a guy who lives fifteen seconds at a time, I know that’s a hard thing to face. But Raysh,” she sighs, letting me know this is the important part, “whether or not you believe in Mira doesn’t change the nature of its existence. All it does is change the nature of yours.”
