Finally, they reached the West Edinton section and its sea of red. Prissie was keeping her eyes peeled for good seats close to the front. “I’m going to say hey to the other girls,” April announced. “Do you want to come?”
“Not this time. But do you want me to save you a seat?”
“Do that!” April said, giving a little wave before hurrying off to where the cheerleaders had gathered.
Prissie breathed a sigh of relief. It was hard to know what to expect where her friends were concerned. Just then, a woman’s voice caught her attention, loud and clear in spite of the surrounding noise. “WooHoo! Prissie!”
Koji spotted her first and pointed to a short woman with bobbed mahogany red hair who was furiously waving a Warrior’s pennant at them. “How’s my grand-girl?” she asked with a happy little bounce.
“Grammie?”
“Hey, Fussbudget!” hailed the tall, silver-haired man by her side. He aimed the imposing zoom lens of his camera their way and snapped a quick photo.
“Grandpa!” Prissie exclaimed. “I didn’t think you were coming until Thanksgiving!”
“We wanted to see Neil’s game, so we decided to sneak in a week early!” he replied with a wide smile. “Surprised?”
“Yes!”
“These are your grandparents?” Koji inquired curiously.
Prissie nodded dazedly before making her way into the stands to hug and be hugged. Then, she politely offered introductions. “Grandpa, Grammie, this is Koji. Koji, these are Momma’s parents, Carl and Esme Olsen.”
13
THE
STONE
STAIRS
Rain slapped against shingles, cold and heavy in the night. Heedless of the wind and wet, Tamaes lay upon the roof, lost in dreams while his mentor stood guard. Taweel endured the downpour without any sign of discomfort, gazing into the storm with watchful eyes.
Omri darted from Taweel’s shoulder to the relative shelter of the nearby dormer and settled on its ledge, giving his wings a flick to rid them of raindrops. He pressed his face to a pane of blue glass, then tiptoed further down the sill to peer through a golden one, brightening when he caught sight of the room’s occupant. With a hopeful hum, the little angel pleaded with Taweel, but the big Guardian shook his head. “We are not here to visit.”
The yahavim sighed and pressed his tiny nose to the glass.
With a faint smile, Taweel turned his eyes back to the sky. “Do not be discouraged. She may need you yet.”
Grandpa and Grammie Olsen were nomads. If you asked Grandpa Carl, he’d say he was a globe-trotting shutterbug, but Momma assured her kids that he was just a retired businessman with an advanced case of wanderlust. Her parents had sold their home a few years ago and now lived in a big, shiny RV. When they weren’t turning up to visit their far-flung brood, they were exploring the highways and byways of the country.
“We added five more states over the summer,” Grandpa Olsen bragged, giving Jude a boost so he could better see the back of the RV that was now parked beside the barn. An outline map of the continental states was more than half filled in by brightly colored magnets.
“Which ones?” the boy asked curiously.
Koji watched intently as Grandpa proudly pointed to the new additions. “I’ll show you my pictures later. I have some amazing ones!”
“Sure!” Jude agreed with a sunny smile. “So how come you’re trying to go to all these places?”
“Because we’re part gypsy!” Grandpa Carl confided.
Beau snorted and Prissie rolled her eyes. With her wild hair and zany plans, you’d think that Grammie Esme was someone to keep a close eye on, but the Pomeroys had learned it was Grandpa Carl you needed to watch out for. He might look mild-mannered, but was a hoodwinker and balderdasher of the first order. All of the kids had been taken in by his tall tales at one time or another.
“Gypsies?” Jude marveled. “That’s cool!”
“Don’t I know it!” his grandfather agreed. “You can tell it runs in the family! Just look at your aunt Ida! Now there’s a girl after my own heart!”
“Wow! That’s right!” the six-year-old exclaimed.
Prissie gave Grandpa a stern look, but the man only winked. Unless someone clued him in, it might be a while before Jude realized that Ida and the Olsens weren’t actually related.
“How long are you staying?” Beau asked.
“Oh, we’ll stick around through Thanksgiving, for sure. After that, it’s hard to say. Your grammie’s a flighty woman, and she might just take it into her head to follow the birds south for the winter.”
“What kind of birds?” asked Jude.
“Snowbirds, mostly,” Grandpa Carl replied. “Though she has a real fondness for yellow-bellied flapdoodles. Do they migrate through here?”
“I dunno,” the boy said.
“How about we keep our eyes peeled for some while you give me the grand tour?”
“Okay!” Jude agreed. “What do they look like?”
“Well, from what I’ve read, the yellow-bellied flapdoodle is famous for two things,” Grandpa Carl confided as he set the boy back down. “Their bellies are yellow, and they do a whole lot of flapping!”
“Are they big or little?” Jude quizzed.
“A little of both!”
The six-year-old led the charge to the apple barn, where all good tours began, and Prissie hung back to walk with Koji. The young Observer peeped at her out of the corner of his eye and whispered, “There is no such bird.”
“Momma says you should take everything Grandpa says with a grain of salt.”
The boy nodded. “Seasoned with salt and full of grace.”
With a small smile, Prissie confided, “Grammie says Grandpa is full of stuff and nonsense.”
“Indeed.” After further consideration, he added, “I am grateful for the opportunity to meet more of your family. I wish to see how their lives fit against yours.”
“Grandpa and Grammie aren’t much for fitting in,” she warned.
“But they draw in those around them.”
“And drive them a little crazy,” Prissie countered. “If you think our house was noisy before, just wait.”
“For what?”
She just shook her head and said, “You’ll see. You always do.”
Loafing Around always experienced a small boom during the week of Thanksgiving. Last minute orders for pies kept Auntie Lou busy, and Jayce sweet-talked his daughter into lending a hand after school. Prissie was glad to be asked, but less than thrilled to have Ransom bumming a ride with her and Koji to the bakery. Somehow, her classmate managed to be less annoying than usual, so she was able to focus on helping Auntie Lou create her signature pinwheel pattern on top of twenty-six pecan pies.
Once those were in the oven, Lou took off to take care of a quick errand, and Prissie begged her dad for the chance to run across the way with Koji to visit The Curiosity Shop. Jayce turned them loose, and Ransom watched them go with a thoughtful expression. “Did you adopt that kid?”
“Who, Koji?” Jayce replied, sounding surprised. “Nope. He’s an exchange student, on loan to us for the school year.”
“Huh.” After a few moments, Ransom casually said, “They’re close, and I mean joined-at-the-hip close. Like he idolizes her.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Jayce countered as he rough-chopped some cranberries for the bread he was making. “More than once, I’ve seen him rebuke her for her attitude or behavior.”
“Rebuke?”
“Whoops, sorry. Christian jargon slips in,” Jayce said sheepishly. “He told her off. In fact, he scolded her for how she acted toward you on Halloween. He was very polite about it, but Prissie looked like a whipped puppy.”
“So, she idolizes him?”
Jayce reached for a bag of walnuts and tossed it from one hand to the other while he considered the teen’s words. Finally, he shook his head, saying, “I don’t think that’s it either. Naomi mentioned it back when Koji first join
ed the family because we sort of expected Prissie to put up a fuss about taking in another boy, but right from the beginning, those two acted like they’d always been friends.”
“Just friends, huh?”
“Nothing just about it,” Jayce retorted. Using a knife to slit open the end of the bag, he shook out a pile of nuts and resumed chopping. “I’d say they’ve hit upon that rare kind of friendship that can last a lifetime.”
Ransom’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “She acts totally different with him than anyone else. I wish I could figure out why.”
“Jealous?” her father asked with a teasing grin.
“Nah. I have friends,” he replied easily. “Me and Marcus are tight, but those two are something else.”
“On the surface, I suppose they’re an unlikely pair,” Jayce conceded. “But my girl trusts that boy completely. It’s beautiful to see around the house, but I’ll admit it worries me a little.”
“How come?”
Jayce sighed and asked, “What happens when the school year ends? We’ve all grown attached to Koji, and I’d keep him if I could. But I’m assuming the boy’s family will want him back.”
“Makes sense.”
“I know how foolish it is to borrow trouble from tomorrow, but I can’t help but look ahead. It’ll break Prissie’s heart when the time comes to say goodbye.” Her father shook his head. “Who’ll be there for her when Koji leaves?”
Ransom gave his boss a crooked smile. “She’ll have you, sir!”
“No brownnosing in my kitchen, young man!” Jayce warned, tossing a towel at him. “It would have been more chivalrous to volunteer for the task yourself!”
Laughing outright, Ransom replied, “Not on your life!”
“This way,” Koji said happily.
“You don’t need to hold my hand,” Prissie complained, though there was no one around to see except the excitable flock of yahavim. The little manna-makers had turned up as soon as they entered the glade beyond the blue door.
The young Observer only shook his head. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?” she asked, but she forgot to wonder when their destination came into view. A white door set into a white stone arch stood by itself in the middle of the forest. The masonry looked as if it had been there for quite some time. Moss and lichen had taken hold. “Has this always been here?”
“No.”
In the center of the painted door, there was a carving of what looked like another door — or perhaps it was more like a gate — flanked by two imposing pillars. Like the blue door’s handle, its knob seemed to be made of crystal, but instead of the opalescent glow, this one was crazed by metallic threads of gold. The sphere shone like a small sun and felt warm to her tentative touch. “Where are you taking me?”
“Up.” When Koji pushed open the door, they faced a wide set of stairs that curved up and away. As they crossed the threshold, Prissie realized the stairs wound along the inside wall of a high, circular structure that wasn’t visible from the outside. “Today is a good day to visit Shimron.”
“This is your mentor’s tower?”
“Indeed.”
Gazing upwards, Prissie felt cold. “It’s high.”
Koji fit his fingers between hers and squeezed tightly. “I will be with you.”
The stairs climbed upward in a lazy spiral. Prissie hugged walls made of the same chalky white stone as the arch marking the entrance, for there were no railings between them and what was sure to become a dizzying drop. Above and below there was only light, which seemed to flow right through the center of the tower like a stream of dazzling particles. Every so often, an indistinct burst of color zipped by, rising or falling, and when a flash of green soared past, Prissie finally asked, “What was that?”
“Who,” Koji corrected. “That was Jedrick. He checks on Shimron regularly.”
“He doesn’t have to use the stairs?”
“He has wings.”
“Oh,” she replied, resisting the urge to look over the edge. By now, they had to be far above the forest glade.
Finally, they passed through a second stone arch, and to Prissie’s relief, nothing about the chamber they entered felt high up. Two other arches were set into the walls of the circular room, but there were no windows. On the one hand, the room felt very empty—bare floors, sparse furnishings, and an airy spaciousness that probably had to do with the apparent lack of a proper ceiling. All Prissie could see overhead were fragments of rainbows that rippled to and fro, as if they were reflecting off a pool of water. On the other hand, Shimron’s tower felt incredibly crowded, for there were books everywhere.
Neat shelves lined the curving wall, evenly spaced as they marched upward. Prissie couldn’t help but notice that every single volume was exactly the same height, but they were different colors, and some volumes were thicker than others. As she gazed at those on the nearest shelf, she found that the spines were embellished by different designs. One bore a tree, another a sheaf of wheat. One looked as if it was trimmed with ribbon, another with pebbles. A buckle, harp, flowers, raindrops, nuts, grass — no two books were exactly the same, yet they all seemed to belong together.
With a gentle tug, Koji led her to the center of the room, where a large table stood. It slanted like a drafter’s table, and along the top edge, an array of old-fashioned pens and brushes sprouted from a collection of mismatched jars. Some were made from glazed pottery, others glass, metal, or stone. There was even a jumble of stubby pencils heaped in an enormous seashell.
Behind all the clutter sat an old man who bent over a large sheet of thick parchment. As they drew closer, Prissie could see that a large section of the page had been covered in strange letters. The paper was expensive-looking, and the rich, creamy color was like the man’s raiment. In fact, as she compared them, she realized that the paper and the fabric had the very same inherent glow.
Koji patiently waited while the white-haired man worked with a set of small brushes. He was adding color to a panel alongside the text, just like in a medieval illuminated manuscript. With a start, Prissie realized that his illustration looked like her bedroom window at home.
Eventually, the old gentleman lifted his gaze and smiled pleasantly. “Koji, you brought your friend.” His voice was as soft as the fluttering of pages in an old book.
“Indeed,” his apprentice replied eagerly. “Prissie, this is Shimron.”
Shimron’s snowy hair stood up around his head in short waves. His faded blue eyes were bright and attentive, and his ears were as elegantly tipped as Koji’s had been before Abner had applied the boy’s human disguise. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Prissie said.
“Miss Pomeroy, you may call me Shimron.”
Koji brimmed with happiness, but she felt a little awkward with two Observers watching her so attentively. Casting about for a distraction, she asked, “Is this a library?”
“Of sorts,” Shimron said. “This is an archive.”
Prissie wondered if each of the books covered a year, or a month, or a week. Maybe even one day was busy enough to fill the pages of those thick tomes. Then something else occurred to her. “Did you write all of these?”
“Most,” Shimron replied with a serene smile.
Pointing to the illustration on the desk before him, she dared to inquire, “Are you writing about me?”
“Not directly, no,” he said. “Human lives are not my concern at the present time. It is given to me to record that which takes place within Jedrick’s Flight.”
“But isn’t that my window?”
“I am pleased you recognize it!”
“It’s obviously mine,” she said. “You’re a very good artist!”
“Yes, he is,” Koji agreed.
“This is your room, child,” Shimron replied. Tapping the unfinished painting, he casually said, “My young apprentice is quite fond of this spot, and he described it in glowing terms. Whether it is the seat or the view or the company he keeps while there, only he can tell
.”
Koji met her gaze with a shy smile. “They are all good reasons.”
“Some better than others,” the old Observer replied lightly.
Prissie found herself smiling, too. It was obvious that these two got along very well, even though Koji hadn’t been apprenticed to Shimron for very long. “So you’re writing about Koji?”
“Just so,” Shimron agreed.
“Have you always been a part of Jedrick’s Flight?” she asked curiously.
“No, no, no,” he said with a dry chuckle. “I am much too old for that to be possible. However, I have been under Jedrick’s watch-care for nearly two centuries.”
“That’s a long time!”
“I suppose,” Shimron replied thoughtfully. “From your perspective, our lives have been intertwined for generations. The stories fill many volumes.”
“May I see them?” she inquired. “Is that allowed?”
“That which is written stands as a testament to the wisdom and faithfulness of God,” Shimron replied earnestly. “Though I doubt you can unravel our language, the illustrations tell their own tale. Koji, I will trust you to use discretion when choosing selections to read?”
“Yes, Shimron!”
“If questions arise, I will be right here,” the old Observer assured before taking up his brushes once more.
Koji led Prissie to a second, smaller desk and urged her to sit on the bench before it. There weren’t nearly as many writing implements on the ledge, and no brushes. “Don’t you paint, too?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he replied solemnly. “I need more practice. Wait a moment.”
He padded over to one of the nearby shelves and selected two books, one much fatter than the other. He joined her on the seat, crowding close as he set the larger volume between them. Prissie found the cold gray cover and the chain pattern on the spine a little ominous, but as soon as Koji lifted the cover, the colorful illustrations distracted her. On the first page, there was a detailed depiction of a sword with a vivid blue gem set into its hilt. “This looks familiar,” she murmured, wishing she could read the strange lettering.
The Hidden Deep Page 16
