The Door Within

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  The swooshes continued. And the shadow rocketed back toward Aidan’s house. Aidan strained to see what could be casting such a shadow, but there was no passing cloud or low-flying plane. The shadow swooped over the house, and for a split second the sun was eclipsed by . . . something.

  Aidan bounced off his bed, took the stairs two at a time, arriving with a horrendous thud at the bottom.

  “Hey, watch the thumping!” Aidan’s father bellowed from the kitchen.

  “Sorry!” Aidan yelled over his shoulder as he ran out the front door to search the skies.

  3

  TREASURES IN

  EARTHEN VESSELS

  I’m serious, Mom, it was this huge shadow,” Aidan mumbled earnestly, his mouth half full of pizza.

  “I’m sure you saw something, Aidan,” she replied. “Maybe it was an airplane?”

  “Mom, airplanes don’t sound like that. It was like, swoosh, swoosh!”

  “I didn’t see—or hear—anything,” offered Aidan’s dad.

  “Maybe it was a helicopter?”

  “Mommm!”

  “Sorry,” she said, holding up her hands. “But helicopters do go swoosh, swoosh.”

  Aidan scowled.

  “Besides, it couldn’t have been anything like that because it was in the big pine tree out front . . .”

  “It was in the pine tree?” his parents echoed. They both had raised eyebrows.

  Grampin wheeled into the kitchen and parked at the table. Aidan got up immediately and said, “Oh, never mind!”

  The next morning, Aidan sat at his computer, staring at the last email Robby had sent. In it, Robby had explained that he was going away for two weeks to a special soccer camp being held at Camp Ramblewood or Redwater or Rattleweed or something like that— Robby couldn’t remember. Pro soccer players were coming to train promising junior players.

  The bad part was that Robby said he wouldn’t have access to the Internet. That meant no emails would come until Robby came home in August. “Great,” Aidan moaned. “Some summer vacation.”

  In the three weeks since they’d arrived in Colorado, Aidan had run out of good books and had mastered every PS2 game he owned. Aidan’s father was at the firm all day. His mom went to her new school two or three days a week to create lesson plans from the new math curriculum. And Grampin, well, he just wasn’t an option as far as Aidan was concerned.

  But the biggest problem was that there didn’t seem to be any kids Aidan’s age in his new neighborhood. He didn’t even see any at the local shopping center. But at least he’d had Robby’s emails to look forward to—and now he didn’t even have that anymore.

  With Robby, every day had been an adventure. Whether it was building forts in the woods, catching crayfish, or riding bikes on the winding trails behind the local high school—Robby found ways to make it exciting.

  “That’s what I need,” Aidan said to himself, “an adventure!”

  And there was one place in the house Aidan hadn’t checked out yet: the basement. But he didn’t like the thought of being underground, cold, and closed in. Still, he’d need to go in sometime, might as well be today.

  Walking through the kitchen, Aidan passed by Grampin, who was asleep, snoring like a chorus of whoopee cushions, the coffee in his mug long since cold.

  Then he spotted it—the basement door. It had a deadbolt, a chain latch, and a regular knob lock. Aidan had often wondered why Grampin needed three locks on the basement door. He’d wondered about it when he’d visited as a little boy, but not enough to ask . . . and certainly not enough to go down there. Aidan didn’t like basements. They were uncomfortable, damp, and full of shadows. Robby’s basement back in Maryland had always given Aidan the creeps.

  Aidan had a feeling that Grampin’s basement would be worse. Could this be the adventure he was searching for?

  Quietly, Aidan slipped into the basement and shut the door behind him. He found himself smothered in darkness. He groped about, flicked the light switch—nothing.

  After wrestling with second thoughts, he tried to tiptoe down the stairs. But each step Aidan took made a different creak or groan, like playing a wildly-out-of-tune piano. If there was something sinister lurking in the basement shadows, it surely knew Aidan was coming.

  Aidan reached the bottom step and realized with great relief that the basement wasn’t completely dark. There were three windows that, while painted a peculiar shade of green, at least let in enough light to make out shapes.

  Eyes wide and straining, Aidan stepped down onto the basement floor. He half expected ghoulish, rotting hands to reach up from the ground to grab at his ankles, but none did. There were, however, other reasons for him to feel uncomfortable. It was cold—a kind of chill that seeped through clothing and made Aidan cringe. There was also a damp, mildewed smell. On top of that, it was unnaturally silent. No crickets, no rattling water heater . . . nothing. The only sound Aidan heard was his own heart pulsing away while he walked.

  He saw a large cardboard box. It was overflowing with toys, but in the ghastly green shades cast from the windows, these toys were not a cheery sight. A wooden sailboat, a broken drum, and a doll that stared back with one eye—Aidan cringed as he passed them.

  Aidan scuttled over to a workbench up against the far wall where, to his great relief, he found a small lamp that still worked. In the new light he made many discoveries: an old radio with large wooden knobs, a stack of newspapers from the 1950s, and half of an old baseball card of a player named Gil somebody. Thinking that there might be more old baseball cards, hopefully intact, Aidan began to search meticulously through other boxes nearby. No luck. The boxes were filled with musty smells, wads of tissue paper, or other smaller boxes. No ’52 Mantle, no ’81 Ripken.

  Aidan sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. He marched over to the far corner of the basement but stopped abruptly when he heard something. It was faint and might ordinarily have gone unnoticed, but because of Aidan’s nerves and the unearthly quiet of the basement, it was as bone jarring as an explosion.

  Aidan stood still as a tombstone, but his eyes strained in wide arcs. The noise clearly came from the angular nook beneath the steps, but there was nothing there. No bike with a rotting, leaking tire. No box with a mouse family within. No tipped paper cup with a roach clicking about in search of food. There was just bare cement floor. The sound continued, a raspy, whispering sound like wind disturbing a pile of dead leaves. It was getting louder. Aidan thought suddenly of the thing watching him from the pine outside his window.

  His heart now lodged somewhere in his throat, Aidan lunged toward the stairs—for there was no other way out of the basement. Just a few more steps, and he’d be . . . But on Aidan’s very next step, the lamp on the workbench flickered, dimmed, and with an audible pfffft, died.

  The darkness was almost total. Even the green light from the basement windows had been blotted out. Aidan stood frozen again, his eyes darting. He opened his mouth to scream, but his voice chose not to cooperate. He thought humorously that even if he had screamed, the only one in the house was Grampin. What could the old guy do?

  The noises continued to get louder and sounded less like wind and more like deep breaths being exhaled. There was an especially loud breath and something sparkled on the floor beneath the stairs.

  It was like blue electricity—flickering and powerful. There was a pause and the sparkles faded. Another breath, and the sparkles rekindled and began to swirl as if rapidly climbing a spiral staircase. Another pause-fade and then another breath-sparkle. This time two more electric spirals appeared directly behind the first. All three pulsed with energy and then dimmed. Suddenly, the electric sparkles glowed fiercely, bathing the basement in blue. Then, they waned and disappeared.

  Just an electrical arc of some sort, Aidan thought, trying to calm himself.

  Then the lamp on the workbench came back on just as suddenly as it had gone out, and there on the floor beneath the stairs were three tall clay pots.

  Aid
an shook his head. Were they there before?

  Aidan took a few tentative steps closer. Each pot was dusty gray and at least two and a half feet tall. There was no writing or decoration of any kind on them. They had lids that made them look like huge, ancient cookie jars.

  His mind whirled with ideas. His heartbeat raced off the charts. Only a moment ago he had been terrified, but now all he could think about was what could be inside! Gold and silver coins? A treasure of emeralds, rubies, and diamonds? Aidan smiled, his mind already imagining what he would buy with his newfound riches.

  Then again, Aidan thought, each jar could be filled with something less pleasant, like cobras or—yuck—somebody’s ashes!

  Either way, Aidan had to find out, so he reached slowly toward the clay pots.

  There was no blistering heat and no biting electric shock, but the moment Aidan’s finger touched the first pot, all three of the pots shattered. Aidan flinched and pulled back, feeling very much in trouble for breaking something so valuable. He half expected his mother to run down the stairs immediately to lecture him about his carelessness. She didn’t, of course; for she wasn’t at home.

  Then Aidan noticed that lying in the shards of each pot was a scroll. TREASURE MAPS! Aidan hoped as he reached down and picked up one of the scrolls. It was surprisingly heavy, and Aidan immediately saw why. For it was not one but many pieces of parchment rolled up and secured by a leather lace.

  Aidan scooped up the other two scroll bundles. He carefully walked up the darkened, creaky basement stairs, but at the top he bounded through the door and rushed to his room—all the while wondering what was in the scrolls.

  4

  THE BETRAYAL

  Carefully, Aidan untied the lace around the first scroll. As he unrolled it specks of parchment fell to the bed. He caught his breath, fearing the scrolls might be so ancient and brittle that they would crumble to dust if opened. Aidan’s fears proved unfounded, for the pages were quite thick—more a stout cloth than paper.

  A stone castle tower was emblazoned near the top of the first page and seemed to guard the beginning of the text—which, to Aidan’s relief, was in English. Aidan read the first line aloud.

  Outside of time and place,

  there is a realm of

  great nobility and renown.

  Aidan’s mind buzzed with excitement. He read the words over and over, as if he was sampling some rich, delectable treat. Eagerly, he gently turned to the next page.

  For the next three hours, Aidan lay in his bed reading the scrolls, his mind mesmerized by the fantasy world unfolding before him.

  The first scroll told the story of another world, a region known only as The Realm. Early in the history of The Realm, a vast and glorious medieval kingdom known as Alleble became very powerful. The kingdom grew and gave birth to many neighboring cities. In time, castles and townships appeared in every corner of the known world. But Alleble was the Father Kingdom. And like a good father, Alleble protected all of its offspring, those who swore allegiance to Alleble, and even the many who did not. There was a great time of peace, for Alleble’s power was absolute. Its King, sovereign. Its armies, unmatched.

  There were, of course, occasional skirmishes between smaller armies, much as young siblings might bicker. And there too were natural threats, aggressive creatures that left their caves and other dark places of the world to assault the strongholds of nearby cities. But with each incident, the King of Alleble saw to it that all conflict was resolved and order restored. The Peace, as it was called, did not last. For in all its plans to protect its people from the dangers lurking outside it, Alleble never dreamed of a war within the kingdom.

  Aidan had read lots of fantasy fiction before: King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, Oswald’s Quest, The Dark Mountain Chronicles—all mysterious and exciting tales. But something about the story in the scrolls was different. Of course, none of those other tales were written on ancient scrolls Aidan had found, but it was more than that.

  From the first word, Aidan found himself strangely connected with everything he read. Yet a suspicion grew at the edge of Aidan’s consciousness. Sure the story was full of fantasy stuff—knights, castles, dragons, and other beasties—but it sure seemed real. Of course, it could not be real, Aidan thought. However, certain elements nagged Aidan to reconsider. The unbelievable detail, for instance. Things like the exact measurements of a castle gate or the precise number of knights killed in a specific battle—even their names! Some of these lists went on for almost an entire page.

  Aidan wondered why the story’s author—whoever it was— would interrupt the plot to include such precise details. At times, it almost seemed like a history book. And history was real.

  Aidan could not help himself. He had to know more. As soon as he finished the first scroll, he picked up the second one and eagerly read on.

  King Eliam, the noble and wise monarch of Alleble, decided to promote one knight from his Elder Guard to become the Sentinel of Alleble. This was a difficult decision, for the Elder Guard were the twelve most skilled and loyal warriors of the kingdom. But only one could be Sentinel. It was a new position—a position of great honor, great responsibility, and great power. For the Sentinel was in charge of guarding the King’s throne room and protecting the King.

  King Eliam favored a bold-hearted knight named Paragal, and chose him to become the kingdom’s first Sentinel.

  The King gave Paragal Cer Muryn, the Blue Blade. It was a mighty sword forged by the King himself from murynstil, the strongest and most rare metal in the land. On its hilt were three blue onyxes that blazed like stars when the sword was wielded by one of pure heart. In the beginning, Paragal was pure, and all the kingdom of Alleble, including the King, loved Paragal deeply.

  So entrusted was Paragal that King Eliam endowed him with an unheard-of power. In the highest tower of the Castle of Alleble was a sacred place called Sil Agal Lorinfal, The Library of Light. It was where King Eliam would go to consult—and compose the history of Alleble.

  Only the King had the ability to enter Sil Agal Lorinfal, for The Stones of White Fire surrounded the tower with an impenetrable barrier of unquenchable holy flames. Anyone else who dared an attempt to enter would be consumed in moments.

  King Eliam gave Paragal power to endure the flames and pass into The Library to read the lore of Alleble. But still, only the King himself could write on the scrolls within.

  Paragal spent much time in The Library, and soon his wisdom was unparalleled in Alleble, exceeded only by the King. So wise did Paragal become that ambassadors and emissaries from many of the smaller kingdoms came to Paragal seeking knowledge or counsel. This Paragal gladly gave to them. And in return for some portion of Paragal’s sage advice, these dignitaries gave Paragal treasures from their realms. Over time, Paragal amassed a collection of extraordinary wealth. It became his undoing.

  Greed for even greater gain began to gnaw at Paragal, for his fortune was but a trinket when compared to King Eliam’s vaults. But greed was just the first fissure of evil to appear in Paragal’s heart. For just as he grew rich on the gifts of the people of The Realm, he also grew prideful on their praise.

  They called Paragal fair, and he was handsome like one descended from kings. They called him wise, and he was dauntingly wise. They called him powerful, and Paragal was powerful—a legend in arms and able to pass The Stones of White Fire without perishing. But in every facet of this praise there was for Paragal a biting insult. For no matter what was said, it was always understood by all that King Eliam was greater still!

  Jealousy festered in Paragal each time rulers of other lands came to King Eliam for counsel. When crowds bowed low as the King passed, Paragal watched and coveted for himself such love and homage. And when the King entered The Library of Light to pen the lore of Alleble, Paragal stood guard outside the throne room . . . and smoldered.

  It was no longer enough to be the King’s most honored. Paragal wanted to wear the crown himself.


  In secret, Paragal gathered many to his side—some from distant lands—but most from inside Alleble’s own borders. With riches, he bribed them. With wisdom, he beguiled them. With power, he coerced them. Then Paragal set in motion a plan to bring down the King and put himself on the throne.

  Aidan was outraged. How could Paragal betray his King like that? King Eliam was good and kind and . . . generous. He treated Paragal like a son! It was treason. It wasn’t fair.

  Aidan flopped backward onto his pillows. He’d seen an awful lot of injustices lately, but nothing on the scale of what was taking place in Alleble. And though he kept reminding himself that it was just a story, Aidan found himself afraid for King Eliam. Aidan had to know what would happen next, so he sat up and read on.

  Some time later, though he tried hard to stay awake, Aidan found himself blinking and nodding. Slowly, Aidan’s eyelids drooped and shut.

  It was a troubled slumber. He tossed and turned, grasping fistfuls of blankets, all the while muttering again and again, “No! No! No!” But the dreams did not stop. . . .

  It was an hour before dawn would brighten the skies over Alleble, and Paragal was pleased. “So far, my plan is unfolding exactly as I had hoped. Well, almost,” he corrected himself. “One of the Elder Guard’s little runts has escaped and has not been found. No matter.”

  Paragal stood outside the throne room at his post. He was, after all, the Sentinel of Alleble, sworn and prepared to risk life and limb for the King. Paragal intended to honor that oath—just not as it was intended. He looked down at his sword, Cer Muryn. The three jewels on Cer Muryn’s hilt were dull, absent of their former blue fire.