by Danny Lasko
“Do you know this, or is it what you want to believe? ’Cause it’s a pretty clever plan and exactly the kind of thing they’d do. I know cause they did it before,” I say, pointing to my knee.
“They didn’t set you up.”
Annie isn’t blinking. She’s waiting. She doesn’t ask out loud. But her eyes, her face are begging me for the answer. Why do you hate them, they ask.
“I was nine,” I begin with a sigh, knowing there’s no reason to hide it any longer. “I had two friends. Two best friends. Dirk Hopkins, a dusty, curly-haired kid plastered with freckles who loved the Escape almost as much as I did. And Peter,” I say staring off into the past. “Peter Dawes. Black straight hair, I mean tar black. He was the coolest kid. He was able to do things, find things that made us forget. . . .
“One day we’re playing, and my father rips me up from the ground and tells me we’re leaving. That the Synarch had ‘found us,’ and we had to go. I had no idea what he was talking about, but it scared me to death. I saw the Synarch cruisers hover above the town, waiting to burn it. I begged my father to let my friends come. He said no. They were screaming at us, crying for help, and my father and Valor, they ignored it all. We took off, and I watched as the whole town, my friends, their families, neighbors, everyone drowned in fire.”
“Ames.”
“It haunts me in my dreams, Annie. I awake screaming. When I found out who I was, who they were, that the Synarch was after us and the town was burned because they were looking for us and that these Children of Hamelin had the power to stop them, to save them from that day and didn’t—whatever they believed in, I was against.”
“Horatio.”
“There were empty seats on the hovercraft. Dozens of empty seats. And it didn’t matter.”
“And you’ve been making amends ever since.”
“And you know what drives me crazy? We went to another lo-pry town, risking hundreds of thousands of lives just because they lived near us. Obviously, my parents were hiding from something, but I never cared enough to find out. They wouldn’t have told me anyway. So I decided that I would make sure Allen didn’t end up like Ames. Not because of me. I couldn’t then and I can’t now. Not after what’s happened.”
It’s the first time I’ve told anyone about Ames. I know there was nothing I could do, but still, even to Annie, I’m ashamed to share it. But even more nervous about how she’ll take it. Will she believe me? And if she does, the last thing I want is for her to be in a cage, too.
“But Linus said something, that night in your living room, that I can’t get over. He said that a lot of the Children chose to leave or go into this world, yeah? They, I don’t know, merged with normal people, married them. Had kids and passing down a piece of the Soul, right? Made it weaker. And I just wonder, that day in Ames and all the other days like it, how many of those unimportant people carried what they crave, how much of their precious Soul was lost.”
I stare off, remembering the fire and fear, wondering what potential was lost simply because they lived next to me.
“I get it,” she says after letting the wind carry away the last of the awful story. “I don’t know what else to say except that I get it. And I’m in.”
“In? In what?”
“If you have a plan to save Allen, then I’m with you.”
“Just like that?”
“No, I still believe that Mira is in dire need, but saving you may have put Allen in a danger they don’t deserve, and that needs to be fixed.”
“Well, I can’t fix anything from here.”
“Exactly,” she says, leaning over the railing. “You have to help the Children of Hamelin.”
“Annie, didn’t you hear what I just said? Don’t you understand what they did?!”
“Yes, and I’m horrified.”
“How can you stand with them?”
“I stand with the truth, Raysh, even if the people who pledge to follow it make stupid decisions. Doesn’t make it not true. We are the children of another world. You’ve been asked to help them by a magical messenger. And we have an unexplainable power. All of these things are true. But right now, you’re locked in a cage, and those people, the ones you hate, are the only way out. You have to help them to help Allen.”
I shake my head, knowing for at least now she’s right.
“Alright,” I say, “we’ll do it your way.”
Annie trails away into the darkness to tell them I’ve had a change of heart. A change of heart. More like a tightening of it. As much as I hate the idea of helping these villains succeed, helping them just may mean helping Allen.
The next morning, the same two guards who attacked me earlier lead me to a large open room, bright and covered in brilliantly colored plants and flowers. A small stream runs down a rock formation and reflects the morning sunlight pouring in from the open roof. Twelve chairs sit in a wide clearing in the middle of the room, each filled with what must be the Children’s governors. My father sits among them, fourth from the left. I scan the rest of them, trying to identify them. Valor sits in the middle, next to a seasoned, strong woman. Her long dark hair in a single tight braid falls to the small of her back. She peers at me with crystal blue eyes fixed in an olive-skinned face. Her crimson lips are thin and expectant. Each member of the council is as imposing as the next. But I don’t let that intimidate me. The pain from my cracked ribs screams at me, but I try to ignore it, at least while I’m in front of these people. I prepare myself for a scolding, but surprisingly, it never comes.
“As a boy, you asked and answered a question that has defined the rest of your life—do you toil for this world or for the world to come?” Valor Perrywhite remains sitting, his voice calm, but his piercing eyes break through the shadows. I swallow, attempting to make room for courage.
“And from that moment forth, every action was in service to your chosen home, this world,” he states plainly, with no emotion that I can see, which makes it all the more jarring. I expected him to continue with his manipulative, condescending tone, but it isn’t there. And I’m looking pretty hard for it.
“We are not typical inhabitants of Earth. We are visitors here. We are vessels that hold within us an extraordinary power. Stewards of the means of salvation for unseen millions. For centuries, the Soul of Mira has been tended and tempered by willing descendants of those whom the Piper brought with him into this land. And for centuries, these same valiant agents of the living light have looked forward to the day when the Soul was prepared to destroy the great shadow that threatens our true home. Horatio Gaph, that day is at hand.
“You condemn us for letting this world pass us by, staying our hand as evil time and again raised its ugly fangs and sank them deep into the good of humanity, poisoning and repoisoning until all that was green and good was too weak to defend itself against its latest manifestation–—the Synarch. I pose an alternative view. What would this world do, with evil always lurking, had it known of a secret, powerful race of beings who held indescribable power? Would they make us their kings and queens? Would we as their rulers maintain benevolence through generations? What would happen to this world should we be called home? Who would care for them then? Or would this world feel threatened—enough to war with us, as is their tendency? And if war, to what end? The destruction of the Children? The annihilation of this world? Even without war, our numbers are dangerously diminished.
“Ames perished because the Children of Hamelin mingled with the inhabitants of this world and, in doing so, proved that risking interference in any degree is risking millions of lives that otherwise might have survived. Allen is in peril due to the same. You want us to help this world, Horatio Gaph. We do. By turning a blind eye.”
My mind swirls with Valor’s defense, pushing in and out of the memory of Ames and of Allen, the realization that every day I breathed that rusty a
ir, I put them at risk simply by being there. Why? Why were we there, especially after the tragedy at Ames?
“Because, Horatio,” says Valor, as if I had asked the questions out loud. “We sent your family to live in Allen to hide something we deemed more valuable than all the lives of this world, including our own. Your mother. Kathryn York Gaph.”
“My … mother?” I glare at my father, whose unblinking eyes suddenly seem warm and soft. The eyes my mother always described but I never saw. I want him to tell the entire story, to demand it from him, but Valor doesn’t give me the time.
“The promise of the Soul’s restoration were the last known words of the Pied Piper to the Children of Hamelin over seven centuries past,” presses Valor. “And just as he vowed, a PureHeart has been called to lead the way. You will not be forced to accept or reject the Call, Horatio Gaph. If you refuse, we will continue on, protecting the Soul until another is called to fulfill the promise. If you accept, then you will play a key part in the rescue of an entire civilization. Either way, the restoration will happen, with or without you.
“You should not have asked ‘which world?’ all those years ago, but whether or not you wished to be part of the great promise that is to come. That is the question that lies before you now. For it will happen. We expect your answer on the morrow.”
The guards back me away from the council and through the exit. The crisp wind chills me instantly, and I have to shake it off.
“Your quarters are down that bridge and across to the east,” says one of the guards, pointing the way. And without another word, they fade off into the darkness. I let the sudden silence overwhelm me before I tromp across the wood bridge and over to my room.
Suddenly, the nagging, clenching pain from the Escape shrieks, reminding me it’s still there. I lean against the doorframe, hoping to catch my breath.
“I’ve got you,” says a low gruff voice. My father reaches behind me and pulls one of my arms around his neck, hoisting my body into the room.
“Is he okay?” asks my mother, surrounded by Annie and, unexpectedly, Linus Sob, all of whom were apparently milling around my room for a while, judging by the nearly empty mugs strewn about a small table and chair, a built-in shelf, even the floor. My nose tells me it was once hot cocoa, And from the whiff of vanilla and cinnamon, it’s Annie’s dad’s doing. And none for me. I can’t help but notice the thick cloth hammock strung tight along the far wall, soft and welcoming. I’m tired. The entire bedroom is wrapped in warm yellow light from an unseen source above us.
“I’m fine,” I lie, falling into a padded chair nearby.
I’m still not ready to speak much, and the hopeful to desperate looks coming in my direction don’t help. I close my eyes to avoid them for a minute while I make sense of Valor’s lecture, my own experience, and everything in between. I wince as I shift in my chair.
“You should really just let me fix this,” says Annie.
“You need my permission?”
“Actually, yes,” she says. “Healing is one of the benevolent powers of the Soul and relies on the acceptance of the recipient and the holder in order to work. Otherwise, I would have just snapped you back into form when you were sleeping.”
“Does mind reading work the same way?”
“It does,” says Linus quickly. “The powers of the Souls manifest themselves in one of three categories. Benevolent—those that work in tandem with each other, such as healing or mind reading. Physical—enhanced abilities, such as strength or speed or memory. And affective—powers that act upon other things or people, such as water, wind, or fire. And, of course, song.” Linus glances at Annie before turning back to me.
“What?” I ask him when his gaze and the silence get too intense. He glances toward the table and back at me. He does it again.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“On the table,” offers my father. A familiar box wrapped in plain brown paper sits neatly in the center of the round surface.
“Right,” I say, leaning further back into my chair. I catch my mother’s gaze, and I can’t help but get lost in it with Valor’s words flowing through my brain. I would much rather talk to her right now than open this box, but I know there’s no way of ignoring it any longer.
“There’s only one way to help Allen now,” whispers Annie, reminding me of the plan.
The others stay back, giving me plenty of room, even if Linus has to be restrained. I don’t know why I hesitate. It’s not like dragons are about to fly out of the box, are they? It occurs to me that maybe the others don’t know, either.
OPENTHEBOXWITHCARE contents revealed DONOTOPENTHEBOX arguments and fights with everyone you love.
There’s nothing out of the ordinary about the paper it’s wrapped in except for the ornate design showing two birds on each end of the same branch, perched on either side and both bowing low stamped in a dark purple wax that I swear glows in the room’s twilight.
I untie the gold string and crack the seal. I start to unfold the brown paper, careful not to rip it, only to find a second layer of the same wrapping. I remove that and a third, followed by a fourth. I keep peeling layers until finally, after nine of them, they reveal a box of heavy dark wood the color of mahogany but with the scent of peppermint. A folded piece of rough cream-colored paper with my name handwritten on it rests on top of the box. The note is short and vague, the dark purple script difficult to read:
I open the peppermint mahogany box, and amidst a sea of purple satin lies a beautifully crafted music pipe of old dark wood.
“Extraordinary,” says my father under his breath. “The first contact with Mira for three centuries.”
“This is it?” I ask. “This is supposed to save the world? A musical instrument?”
Annie is in front of me before I know it and brushes her fingers against the pipe.
“It’s beautiful. Do you hear that?”
“No, what is it?”
“Does anyone hear it? The sound, the song coming from the pipe. It’s amazing.”
“The Pied Piper controlled legions of rats with a music pipe,” says Linus firmly. “Played a song that freed the original Children from Mira and opened a Looking Glass that brought them here. The Hamelin Chronicles imply that the very earth and elements obey the songs played by the Piper and his princes. There is more power in this instrument than in all the weapons of the world combined. Even the Soul.”
“Okay,” I say. “I was just asking.”
“The 131st?” asks Annie.
“The 131st Child of Hamelin. The one left behind,” says Linus, glowing in his own knowledge.
“So now what?” I ask.
“Play it!” cries everyone in the room. I’m not a musician. I took a piano class when I was eleven because I had to and nothing since. But I shrug and put the pipe to my mouth. The dark wood is smooth and slippery against my dry lips, which I lick as a reflex. I blow, covering randomly a few of the nine holes I count, but more wind than sound billows out. I try again, a few more dissonant notes in succession, but I get nothing extraordinary.
“Any secret Looking Glasses open?” I ask, trying to cover my embarrassment.
Linus steps forward. I can see it in his glasses-covered eyes that he desperately wants to examine it, to play it. But that’s not going to happen.
“What’s that?” asks Annie, pointing back to the purple sea of satin and to a pulse of gray along the base of the box. I pull up a ring—looks like silver, with a face of flat black stone.
“You have to put on the ring, Horatio,” squeaks Linus. I look over to see the boy on the verge of tears. “It’s a security system,” he adds, which no one questions. Even at his young age, I don’t think anyone has buried his or her head in the Hamelin Chronicles more than Linus Sob. And that’s only the one available to him outside the Gar
den. Here, if they have a library, Linus is doubtless their most frequent visitor.
I slip the ring onto my right index finger. I expect to feel the warmth of a shield wash over me, but I don’t. Instead, I feel a comfortable tightening of the ring to fit my finger and then watch as a small stream of liquid metal shoots from its base, shimmy down the back of my hand and wrap around my wrist, creating a ring/bracelet combination connected by a string of metal. I bend my wrist, watching the metal bend with it. Two letters push themselves through the blackstone face in the same silver metal: HG.
“It knows you,” says Annie.
“What does it do?” I ask.
I ask Annie to punch me in the stomach, which she accepts a little too quickly while wearing that mischievous smile that first caught my attention a year ago.
“Ah!” I cry, surprised at the force of her fist on my already-bruised body. “Okay, thanks,” I say. “Clearly, it’s not a shield.”
“Just let me heal you!” she cries.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
“What kind of security system, Linus?” asks Dad.
“I’m guessing it’s protecting the instructions.”
“What instructions?”
Linus raises an eyebrow and looks around the room as though we’ve just been replaced by babies. “What, am I the only one who doesn’t know how to find Berebus Pock?”
I search through the box to find anything that looks like an address or other instructions that might shed some light on Berebus Pock’s request. I find two other rings exactly like the first secured in the purple satin but nothing else inside.
“Here we go,” I say, pulling up one of the nine wraps and showing it to the group. “I don’t know what it means, but it’s a start.”
“What’s a start?” asks my father.
“The writing on the paper. You don’t see that?” My father shakes his head. Judging by the furrowed brows and confused looks, neither can anyone one else. I suddenly get what Linus was saying.
