by W. C. Peever
“Well what, Charlie?”
“Did you get the spot?”
“Of course, I did. Didn’t you see? Compared to the other newbies I was amazing. Of course I got the spot.” Her smile broadened. “Not to mention the creative way I got past Lance.”
Mick grinned. “I saw that move, girl! Amazing.”
“Apology accepted,” Bailey said, winking whimsically at him.
Arm in arm, the three headed to the dormitories to shower before supper. As they approached the entrance to the castle, the huge doors of the great granite archway opened, and the same young man who had given Charlie the Headmaster’s letter approached them. The boy fingered through a huge pile of letters and handed each of them one, then nodded and proceeded on to the lacrosse field. Charlie said, “I wonder what this is all about,” as he broke open the wax seal. The letter read:
Dear Mister Burrows,
You have the honor of being in the first position of the day to perform the Trials of Selection. Please meet the faculty in the coliseum no later than seven forty-five Monday morning. You will be given an apprentice robe for the trial. Thank you in advance for your attention on this matter.
The Office of the Headmaster
Secretary Madame Henching
“I’m the first to try out, at seven forty-five, Monday morning.”
“I have second position, at eight forty-five,” stated Bailey.
“Fifth position, at eleven forty-five,” said Mick. “Bloody bad luck, that’s right before lunch. Everyone will be paying attention to their stomachs rather than my feats.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll pay attention and I’ll bring Bailey a snack,” said Charlie.
Mick wasn’t laughing. “This is one of the most important events in our lives, and I want to make sure that everyone is paying attention.”
“You keep saying ‘everyone.’ I thought the trials were by invitation only,” said Bailey.
“Well, everyone important gets an invitation: the entire council; your parents, if they are aware of the world; and most importantly the entire student body. That’s why they hold it in the auditorium.”
Charlie’s stomach dropped. “Oh. I thought it would be a…well…private event. No pressure, you know.” His palms had suddenly become sweaty.
“Everyone in our world wants to know what new abilities each of us will have. Mostly, however, they are hoping to be there when the new Jumper is found.”
“The woman who gave us our class schedules told me my father was a World Jumper.”
“Your father was Daniel Burrows? My God, Charlie, why didn’t you say that when we first met? I understand why you wouldn’t tell everyone else, but I thought we were friends.”
“Just found out myself”, Charlie said shrugging his shoulders. He disappeared when I was two. I never really knew him. So what’s the big deal, anyway?” Charlie was annoyed. His father was the man who deserted him and his mother all those years ago, not some kind of hero.
“Your father was a really important part of a top secret mission for the Order. Mick retorted, pausing to think. “I have no idea what kind of mission, but I know that it was important, and that after it was done he had to go into hiding. Charlie, there is someone you need to speak to. Her name is Joelle.”
“Joelle?”
“Shhhh!” Mick whispered “Remember when you asked me where I get all my information? Well…it’s from Joelle. When I first got here, I was all alone. I wandered the castle until I came across the library. When I went in a big Siamese cat just appeared at my feet and began rubbing itself between my legs. I did what any animal lover would do; I bent to pick her up, and the bloody creature looked up and hissed, ‘Did I ask to be picked up?’ I thought I’d gone altogether bonkers. Had to sit down for a bit, but I had so many questions. I began to scratch behind her ears and we started to talk. I spent every day for the next week talking to Joelle. Turns out she is a werecat, which accounts for being able to talk, I guess. I don’t know that much about them. She told me about your father. Only gave me the basics, but I’ll bet she has a whole lot more to say.”
“A real werecat! Like from the stories? When can we meet her?” said Bailey excitedly.
“I was going there tonight to see if she would tell me anything about the trials. How about we go together after dinner?” said Mick.
Charlie was speechless. Bailey made up for it though
“Sounds good to me,” she said. “Now, I may love getting muddy, but I am a girl and I enjoy a good bath. So let’s continue this conversation at dinner,” and with that, she went up to her dormitory, leaving the boys to do the same.
Chapter Four
The Librarian
Dinner at Thornfield made both Bailey and Charlie’s eyes bulge. Neither had ever gone hungry, but their families were not as rich as the other kids at Thornfield. Even Bailey and Charlie’s Thanksgiving was not as grand as the meals served here. Their families would get together and have turkey and potatoes. Bailey would make an apple pie from the apples she had stolen from Mr. Roland’s Orchard. It was hard growing up in a town filled with people of affluent means, and being at Thornfield reminded him of that. Charlie’s favorite middle school English teacher often joked that the students at the high school drove better cars than he did. All of Charlie’s friends would get picked up from school in brand new sports cars and fancy SUV’s that you need a ladder to get into. Charlie’s mom picked up Bailey and him in an old Honda Civic with holes in the muffler that sounded like a machine gun.
At Thornfield there was food from every corner of the world, from haggis to tandoori chicken. Bailey piled her plate with a dish from every country in the world. Mick, on the other hand, was already on his third hotdog. He’d already eaten all of the baked beans and coleslaw he could manage to pile onto his plate. Charlie grimaced. Mick would be sleeping in the same room as him. With the doors shut. He shook it off and chose macaroni with cheese, and a large slice of apple pie. At home he’d always had to make sure to leave enough for his mother. Now he was trying to decide whether or not to take two pieces of pie. He settled on one now and maybe coming back for a second piece later. After all, it would still be there.
After all three had had their fill, Charlie turned anxiously to Mick. “I’m ready.”
“Curious to learn a bit more about your dad I take it, eh mate?”
“Yeah, but I also want to hear more about what to expect on Monday.”
“I hear you there, mate, the more information, the better. Don’t want to be caught with our pants down in front of thousands of people, now do we?” Mick let the unanswered question slide. With that, the three friends proceeded to the library.
“You know, it’s interesting,” said Bailey. “While I was upstairs I looked on the internet and there were records of werecats in Europe and North America. They’re usually small domestic cats that have the ability to turn into panthers or bobcats. However, the oldest records come from Asia.”
“You said Joelle was a Siamese cat, didn’t you Mick? That’s Asian,” said Charlie.
“Right, and here’s the interesting thing – Asian werecats are supposed to have the ability to turn into tigers. They were humans who fell under the power of a vindictive ghost. The site I was on didn’t go into a lot of detail but it did say that Asian werecats are really, really rare. The weretigers, as they are called in tiger form, sometimes perform acts that can only be called magical. Again, not a whole lot of detail, but not bad, considering there has not been a confirmed sighting of this creature in well over fifteen-hundred years.”
“Makes sense,” said Charlie. “If you think about it, we were all in the open before the witch hunts. That’s when what the Manserian do became legend and myth. It really wouldn’t surprise me if the myths and fairytales we are taught by our unsuspecting parents are actually true. That’s what the Secrecy Act was all about.”
“Imagine, a werecat!” Bailey interjected. “Wouldn’t it be cool if dragons and trolls and elves ex
isted as well?”
Mick smiled. “Here we are. I hope that Joelle’s here. I didn’t warn her about our coming.”
The door opened and a large Siamese cat slinked her way out the door, flicking her tail as she walked. “No need for a warning when you wear a size fifteen boot, and are speaking so loud that you could wake the dead. You do realize that the library sits on top of the catacombs?” She turned to face Charlie and looked up at him with large, exploring eyes. “Charles Burrows, son of Daniel and Ellen Burrows; grandson of Longfellow and Marianne Burrows; descendant of Merlin Caledonensis, it is an honor. I knew your great, great-and-so-on grandfather. We were…friends of a sort. Please come in. I was just sitting down to dinner when I felt you stomping up the tower. Indulge me and we can talk while I eat.”
The werecat led the three children back into the library. Just inside, Charlie stopped. It wasn’t what he had expected. After being in the Headmaster’s study, where every wall was covered with books, the library, which he expected to be a huge room with miles upon miles of shelves, turned out to have a couple of shelves with dust-covered books, surrounded by tables of new computers. The walls were brick, and adorned one after another with plasma television screens. Groups of well worn, overstuffed couches knelt in front of the plasma screens. There were three blazing fireplaces, one in the middle of each wall bathing the room, walls and TV screens in a flickering orange glow. Charlie blinked and shot Mick an inquisitive look. “The computers?” asked Mick.
“Yeah, I would have thought that an old castle like this would have a huge book selection, not computers and plasma TV screens. Do you get cable?”
“Of course, we even have HBO. However we also have literature, every volume known to man actually, and twice as many that aren’t known outside of the Manserian world,” said Joelle in a seductive, velvety voice. “Every old, fragile manuscript that once lined the walls has been neatly compiled on the school servers. Students may research any time. It saves time and space, and most importantly teaches students the value of computer research. Not everything the mortals invented is worthless. What kind of school would we be if we didn’t use the very latest technology? Of course, not every book is on the servers. The more…” She paused to choose her words carefully. “…’sensitive’ books are safely stashed.” She walked over to an open can of wild caught tuna, took a bite and then lapped at a tall glass of red wine that stood next to the can.
“Thank you, Ms. Joelle,” said Charlie, appreciatively.
The werecat looked up from her wine goblet and fixed her green eyes on Charlie. “It’s just Joelle. No need to stand on formalities. Since you two are acquainted with Mick, I assumed you would also have an inquisitive mind. When he first came to Thornfield he quizzed me about our world to the point of exhaustion. I hope that he has shared with you some of the knowledge I shared with him. When you are as old as I am, you find yourself repeating stories a lot, and it can get quite tiresome.”
“Joelle, I was hoping that you could tell me something about my father. Who he was, and what he was doing before he died.”
“I can indeed. In fact, I can tell you both about your fathers,” she said, nodding at Bailey.
“My…my father? You knew him?” stammered Bailey.
“I knew Jonathon Relling quite well. Your fathers entered school at the same time, and quickly became fast friends. Their abilities, and later their professions brought them even closer. The trials found Jonathon Relling to be a Guardian, a noble ability to be sure. He could heal injuries by focusing his energy through the crystal in his staff.” The children stared at her.
Noting their quizzical expressions, Joelle explained, “A Manserian’s powers are only as good as the focus object that he wields. Without that object a Guardian can no more heal an injury than a mortal. The object, or rather the crystal, that is embedded in the object is the conduit through which all things happen; the crystal collects the energy our ability creates in our body and focuses the energy so that we can then use it. Think of it as a rechargeable battery; the crystal collects our energy throughout the day and then when we need it, it’s there.”
“Does that mean the energy can run out?” Asked Bailey.
“Sadly, yes.” The cat looked into the glass of blood red wine. “I have lost many friends over the years to exactly that…they ran out of energy before their enemy did.”
Joelle sighed, and then continued.
“A Guardian is protective. He has the ability to siphon strength and health from a person. It is a powerful and dangerous ability. Imagine a person with the ability to give and take away a person’s life force – a scary thought – so the Order imbued Guardians with an internal code of honor. It is very rare for a Guardian to go bad, though it has happened,” Joelle said, face clouding, and her whiskers flicking up and down her midnight black face. “Guardians are often paired with a person whose ability does not allow them to fight without a melee weapon. They protect, say an Influencearian, so that the Influencearian can project without fear of attack. All abilities can be used as a weapon of some sort, and Guardians posses the most powerful. Even energy intended to heal can kill if a Guardian allows the crystal to overcharge. Not to mention, the staff itself is a melee weapon.
“Jonathon Relling was a highly skilled and brave Guardian. Because of this, and their longtime friendship, he was chosen to protect the most important person in the Order, Daniel Burrows. Your father, Charlie was a World Jumper. He had the ability to both move between dimensions and cross the veil that separates the nine worlds of existence.”
“Dimensions? Nine worlds?” Charlie repeated, trying to imagine what Joelle had said. “If my father was so powerful, and he was protected by an even more powerful man, then why did he die?” Why wasn’t he home for birthdays and Christmas? Why wasn’t he there when my mother needed him? Tears had begun to choke the words from Charlie’s throat.
“Charlie, your father was talented, but sometimes in life, sacrifices must be made. Your father sacrificed a lot for you, more than you realize. Shame on you for carrying so much hate for a man who had nothing but love for you.”
The tears that had lodged in his throat began to well up in Charlie’s eyes. The werecat discreetly continued.
“As to your first question, a dimension is an alternative world, one that parallels our own. It is created whenever a large number of Manserian make an important decision that would affect the course of time. For instance, the choice between either Coke or Pepsi would not cause a dimensional rift. However, the choice a nation makes before heading to war would rip the time-space into two worlds, a world where the war took place and a world where it did not.”
“You and I live in the nexus of time and space, the line of time that stretches from the first rays of light on earth until the present, with all the parallel worlds branching off from us like a giant tree, and just like a tree if too many branches of time are made, the tree will break and the fabric of reality will become stretched too thin. All of existence will disintegrate.”
The children looked at her with a mixture of shock and confusion. Bailey was the first to break the deafening silence. “How many choices need to be made before that happens?”
“No one knows,” said the werecat. “Time was never meant to be tampered with. Left alone, it should go on forever. But with many different realities all using the same fabric of time…” She stopped, realizing that the children were lost. “Think about it like this: Time is like a sweater being knit. The person knitting has just enough yarn to finish the sweater, but she decides to knit baby booties, and then a wool hat, and then mittens out of the same ball of yarn. Will she be able to finish the sweater?”
“No,” said Mick. “She won’t have enough yarn. She will have used it all up.”
“Exactly. The same goes for time. When the Gods made time –”
“Gods? You mean God, right?” Bailey interrupted.
“No,” said Joelle, puckering her nose. “I said exactly what I mean
t. When the Gods made time, they made it to last until they returned to the Midgard, or what we call the Earth, to decide if they…well…wished to renew our lease. We are keeping watch over humanity while they are at war.”
“At war?” Mick asked.
“Yes. Our Gods, those who follow Odin, who built the great citadel world of Asgard and who created the nine worlds, are caught in a civil war. The lesser Gods of Vanaheim, who were created by Odin, felt that they were not given the respect they deserved and rose up against the Asgardians. Odin, in his wisdom, saw the coming war and knew they would need to depart the nine worlds lest they too become consumed with war. Not wanting to leave the nine worlds unprotected they left Guardians, whose charge it is to protect those worlds. On Midgard the Gods of Asgard selected a group of loyal priests, in what is now the United Kingdom, to be the Watchers of Humanity. You know them as Druids. In 6,000 B.C. Odin, commanded each of the Gods in his highest council to infuse in the Druids a miniscule amount of their power, so that the Druids could rule and protect them against the monsters of the other worlds.” The werecat shook her head. “If only they had warned the Order to protect themselves from the enemy within.”
“Wait, the enemy within…do you mean the Vanari?”
Mick interrupted once again.
“Yes. You see the followers of Odin, by which I mean the Order, wished to improve and protect humanity. Remember, when this took place the world was a much wilder, and more dangerous place, a place without running water or indoor toilets, but you are getting me on a tangent.”
Joelle took a lap from her wine glass and licked her lips with her pink tongue before continuing. “Hod gave the power of blindness or invisibility; Loki gave the power of shape shifting; Thor and Eir combined their powers of healing and brute strength to create a Guardian; Ullr gave his power of shields. The list goes on and on, but Odin had a great deal of affection for humanity, and gave the most interesting power, the knowledge of time. He wished humans to understand the immortal nature of time. Instead, however, he imbued the Manserian with a dangerous power, the power to rip open the very fabric of time and unwittingly create alternative realities or dimensions.”
