The Stair Of Time (Book 2)

by William Woodward

  Just then, the door to their bedroom burst open, and in raced Hanna and Benjamin, faces lit with mirth.

  Mandie laughed. “What do you two think you’re doing, barging in on us like this? And at this hour?”

  Hanna wrapped her arms around Mandie and said, “But we saw a blue squirrel outside Benjamin’s window. It snickered at us and flicked its tail, and then ran up a tree! Can we go outside?” Then, in unison, “Pleeeaaase?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” answered Andaris, doing his best to sound serious. “Did the squirrel look…dangerous?”

  Giggling, they shook their heads.

  He looked at Mandie. “Well, what do you think, honey? Do you think it’s okay?”

  “Hmm, I suppose so, but be careful. Those blue squirrels can be vicious when they want to be.”

  “Hooray!” they yelled. Then, spinning on their heels, they raced back out of the room.

  “Don’t stay gone too long!” Mandie called after them. “Breakfast will be ready soon!” Of course, the sound of the screen door banging shut was their only response. She knew she’d have to go get them when it was time, but didn’t really care. They were just too cute to punish—this morning, anyway.

  “So,” she asked Andaris, getting out of bed and standing up, “what do you feel like for breakfast? Eggs and toast, popovers, pancakes?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Okay, oatmeal it is then.”

  He smiled back, watching her with a grateful heart as she put on her robe and walked toward the kitchen, belly even bigger than yesterday.

  Andaris was considering lying back down until breakfast was ready, when Mandie yelled, “Will you get a couple of blankets out of the trunk and take them to the kids? It’s still pretty cold out there. Ol’ Blue Tail isn’t worth getting sick over.”

  His head still hurt, but of course she was right, so he got out of bed and shambled to the trunk. Why am I always so tired? he wondered. He started to reach for the handle…and then hesitated, spine tingling with warning. There was something strange here. The handle was different than he remembered, and yet…the same as something else. It was as if he’d seen it on something…like a door.

  Yes, that was it. It looked like the kind of handle that belonged on a door. This isn’t right, he thought. This doesn’t go here. The handle was elegantly crafted, standing out in stark contrast against the plain wood of the trunk, filigreed and fine, a long silver S that flashed in the morning light.

  He could hear Mandie humming from the kitchen. He wanted to call to her, but was too fixated on the handle. It was like a piece of another world intruding into this one. It doesn’t belong here, he thought.

  To his dismay, he found himself reaching for it again, anxious to feel its cold smoothness beneath his palm. He knew exactly how it would feel, for he had felt it many times before. Hundreds of times. Thousands….

  Flock Together

  Eli had planned to bring Bo to a stop as soon as they cleared the tree line, and then call out a greeting so as to not startle the old man. Needless to say, things didn’t go as planned. For you see, in spite of the resemblance Gramps bore to a porcupine, he apparently had ears like a fox.

  As Eli was haulin’ back on the reins, the man dropped the brush he’d been gatherin’, pulled out his bow, and scrambled around to the other side of the horse. Eli marveled at his speed, which would have been considered fast for someone half his age.

  “No need to be alarmed!” Eli shouted as two eyes and a drawn bow popped over the top of the saddle. “I mean ya no harm! I got my daughter, Mandie, in tow, sent here by the witch woman, Sarilla, to lend you aid!”

  Gramps squeezed shut one eye, no doubt sightin’ in on some especially vulnerable part of Eli’s anatomy. “You stay right where I can see ya, young fella! I may be old, but from this distance I could drop an arrow into your brainpan without even tryin’! You’d be dead before ya could say howdy do! Now lower them reins and raise them hands where I can see ‘em!”

  Disturbed almost as much by the steadiness of the man’s voice as by the steadiness of the man’s hands, Eli did exactly as he was told. Obviously sensing his master’s tension, Bo stamped his hooves and shook his head. “Whoa there, Bo, steady now.”

  “You keep yer hands raised high!” yelled Gramps, stepping around the end of the horse and walking slowly forward, knocked arrow at the ready.

  “Don’t have to worry about that!” Eli called back. “Never argue with a man aimin’ a drawn bow, that’s my motto!”

  Gramps graced him with a tentative grin, showing crooked white teeth. “Well…good for you. Mayhap ya got more sense than ya look, enough anyhow to fend off the reaper for another day or two.”

  Eli couldn’t help but return his grin, finding himself, despite the circumstances, beginning to like this man. He reminded him strongly of his now long-dead grandfather. He wondered if Sarilla was watching. Well, of course she is, he thought, his smile broadening.

  “What ya got to be grinnin’ about, young fella? If you’re thinkin’ to outfox me, you’re sadly mistaken. I’ll shoot first and ask questions later! I swear I will! Mayhap ya got a load full of brigands in that wagon of yours, waitin’ ta jump out and charge me! Well, even if ya do, remember, you’ll be just as dead! We can die together on this day if ya like! I’m all but used up anyhow!”

  Eli sincerely doubted that. Judging by the man’s steely gaze and surefooted approach, he was a long way from used up. He might feel like he was, but clearly he was not—not by a long shot. “I do swear to ya, sir,” Eli said, the smile scared from his lips, “there’s naught but my dearest daughter in the back of this wagon. And we mean you no harm. It’s just me, Mandie, and ol’ Bo here, and on that ya have my word.”

  Gramps cocked his head to the side, a shrewd humor lighting his face, making him appear ten years younger. Do ya think I just fell off the turnip wagon yesterday, young fella? it seemed to ask. Do ya think I haven’t been in this exact same situation a hundred times before?

  “Well, young’n’, mayhap you’re tellin’ me true, and mayhap you’re not. I pray for yer sake, and mine, that you are. ‘Cause believe it or not, ol’ Gramps doesn’t like to go ‘round killin’ folk without cause, whether they needs killin’ or not. Do ya hear?”

  Eli merely nodded respectfully, observing, as Gramps drew closer, the scars on his forearms and neck, thinking that they must have been made by a knife or sword. If he’s still got this much fire left in his belly, think how he must have been back in the day. Why, he would have been somethin’ to see, and make no mistake.

  “Careful, young’n’! I glimpse the wit creepin’ back into those big cow eyes of yers, like ya got some card up yer sleeve that ya can’t wait ta play! Best take a breath and stand down!”

  Eli frowned and tried to push his hands even higher into the air, wondering how he could stand down more than he already had. Crazy old coot, he thought. If I’m not careful, I’m gonna get a quill in the eye.

  “That’s better,” Gramps told him as he came to a stop, now only about five feet away. “Now, climb on outta that wagon, and do it real slow.”

  “Yes sir,” replied Eli. “Anything ya say. Just please, don’t lose your grip. My daughter needs me.”

  Gramps nodded as he tracked Eli’s tentative progress with the tip of the arrow. “Mayhap she does and mayhap she don’t. We’ll soon see, won’t we? Now, step around to the rear of that wagon and pull them blankets back. Let’s find out what ya really got under there!”

  Eli made sure to keep his movements slow and deliberate, feeling sweat trickling down his back as he took hold of the covers.

  Bo snorted and stamped uneasily. “Easy there, Bo,” Eli cooed, knowing what a disaster it would be if the horse decided to rear up. “Everything’s gonna be all right, we just have to keep calm.”

  “Okay,” said Gramps. “Now pull ‘em back. And remember…slow.”

  By the time the blankets had reached Mandie�
��s ankles, Gramps had stepped to the rear of the wagon. And now, at last, lowered his bow.

  Eli breathed a long sigh and mopped the sweat from his brow.

  Gramps shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Hmm, well, what do ya know about that,” he said. “Seems you were tellin’ the truth, after all. That’s Mandie all right. But how, by the Seven Gates of Galdora, did ya get here? Ya say you’re her father?”

  The two men talked through the afternoon and well into the evening, each telling the other their piece of the larger tale. Eli found that they did, as Sarilla had predicted, get along famously. By the end, it felt as if they’d known each other their whole lives, like they were part of the same family, holding to the same values and beliefs.

  As the shadows stretched long across the forest floor, they turned their attention to building a fire and starting supper. Fortunately, Gramps was well provisioned, so tonight at least they would eat well, as well as if they’d been sittin’ around the supper table at home. Mayhap even better.

  Eli’s mouth watered as Gramps handed him a metal plate heavy with potatoes, greens, salted pork, buttered bread, and cranberry preserves. “I thank ya kindly,” he said as he took the plate. “This is better fare than me and mine are used ta.” But then his eyes widened at an even more glorious sight: Gramps pouring mead from a waterskin into a pewter tankard. “Thank ya kindly, indeed!” Eli exclaimed. “We are well met in this strange place, are we not…Gramps?”

  The familiarity of this address was not presumption on his part. About two and a half hours ago, the old man had insisted upon it, saying that everybody else called him such, so he might as well too.

  “Indeed we are, young’n’,” he said, faded old eyes twinkling in the firelight as he poured himself a cup of mead. “And let me say, I’m grateful for the company. This would have been a dire lonesome night without ya.”

  “Glad to be of service,” said Eli, raising his tankard as Gramps squatted down across from him. “The way I see it, if’n I can help my Mandie and you at the same time, then why the blazes not?”

  Gramps grinned and raised his cup. They clanked to one another’s good health, drank deep of the honey wine, then sat back and gazed up at the heavens, wondering what new marvels tomorrow would bring.

  Grasping at Handles

  As Andaris raised the lid of the roll top trunk, blinding white light flashed forth, pouring out in all directions. He recoiled, covered his eyes with his arm, and fell back. He could still hear Mandie humming from the kitchen, but it was becoming more and more faint, as though she were moving slowly away…. Suddenly afraid that he would never see her or his children again, he willed himself to open his eyes—

  Only to find the world spinning about him at an alarming rate, kaleidoscopic color and light forming complex and ever-changing patterns. His bedroom was simply gone, along with the house he’d built with his own two hands, the floor, the walls, the roof—everything.

  Soon, he could no longer even make out the cheerful humming of his darling wife, nor the laughter of his children as they teased Ol’ Blue. Despite what Mandie had said, he knew it was eggs, toast, popovers, and pancakes that she’d been cooking—not oats. Dear, sweet Mandie, he thought. My world. My life. The blood in my veins and air in my lungs.

  “Mandie!” he cried. “Where are you?”

  As if in response, the kaleidoscope slowed until he could begin to make out bits and pieces of his surroundings. It was like when he was a boy, and he would twirl around and around as fast as he could before coming to a sudden STOP, waiting for the world to catch up, collapsing into a fit of giggles when it finally did.

  But he didn’t think it was funny now, did he? Especially once everything around him did come to a STOP and he realized that he was standing in an ill-lit hall, huddled before a partially open wooden door, rosewood by the look of it. There was something familiar about this door. He peered at it intently, at The Symbol engraved deep into the wood. Then at the handle, which was the same elongated S as the one on the trunk.

  “Filigreed and fine,” he whispered. The world may have stopped spinning, but his mind had not. A part of him strained for comprehension, reaching for the truth which now loomed large before him. And yet another part was afraid, desperately so, afraid of what that truth might reveal.

  Where had he seen this door? And of what was he so afraid? What truth lay beyond that so utterly terrified him? He remembered seeing the handle against a black lacquered panel, on the…door to a…. To a what, for Kolera’s sake! He had to hurry. He was losing the thread.

  Think! he demanded. And then all at once, he had it. To a coach! his mind screamed. A gleaming monstrosity of a coach! I was with Bernard and…Trilla.

  With this realization, the rest of his memory returned, slamming into him with shocking force, threatening to destroy him. For a time, he felt sure his mind must crumple beneath the awesome weight, collapsing into itself, unwilling to accept what it now knew to be true.

  None of it had been real. Not Trilla, not Bernard, not even Mandie and his darling children. Ever since he’d stood in this hall, staring at this door, wondering whether or not to walk through, he had been in a sort of trance, mesmerized, caught in thrall.

  Except for when I turned the handle in the coach, he thought. The same handle on the trunk…and this door. Even now, he struggled to wrap his mind around it, to keep from losing the thread—in part because a part of him didn’t want to believe.

  The fact was, he’d never left this hall. He’d never turned from the door after having decided to investigate the room later. The fact was, as much as he didn’t want to believe, he was still trapped in the bowels of The Lost City, held prisoner beyond the ever-shifting insanity of the clockwork stair. Feeling a wave of despair and loss wash over him, Andaris buried his face in his hands and wept.

  Gaven was dead, perhaps in the same way that he himself was dead, but still…. Trilla was married to Prince Palden. His parents were in Fairhaven. Mandie was dying—trapped in her own dream. And his children…. Well, they never even existed, did they? And here he sat, lost and utterly alone.

  A pitifully long period of time passed before Andaris ceased his weeping, wiped his eyes, squared his jaw, and peered angrily up at the door. He wondered if the other side was as he’d dreamt, or as what he’d thought he’d dreamt.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Whether what he’d seen before was real or not, the question remained the same. Was his future self in there—dust-covered skeleton keeping timeless watch on the door, waiting for him to enter?

  Andaris! his rotund aunt Toleira exclaimed in his head, you really should eat more! Why, you’re nothing but skin and bones!

  This brought a fitful grin and the beginnings of nervous laughter. No, he thought, stifling the outburst. Don’t think I should go down that path. Not yet, anyway. Might not be able to get back.

  Technically speaking, the door was open, but only by an inch or two. There was no light in the room, except for what entered through the crack, shining murky and yellow against the stone wall, retreating occasionally as the nearby sconce guttered, and then moving forward again with, what seemed to Andaris, great reluctance.

  Can’t blame it, he thought, gnawing his lower lip.

  How long had he been in this hall? It had been only a couple of days in the dreams, but how did that translate in reality? What reality? he scoffed, holding the back of his hands up for closer examination. Thankfully, the skin didn’t appear to have aged.

  ***

  Commonly mistaken for a woman in her early twenties, his mother had always prided herself on her youthful appearance. Then, one bright spring day at the harvest fair, a sixteen-year-old girl in a divining booth had correctly guessed thirty-five, explaining to his mother’s falling face that you could always tell by the hands, holding up her own supple flesh as example. “But don’t worry,” she’d said with a bright smile, “we sell revitalizing cream that’ll take years off!”

  ***

/>   So, he wasn’t much, if any, older, but what about the rest of the world? Suppose he’d been held in complete stasis, out of normal time and space? Suppose, in what had seemed to him, like only two days, hundreds of years had passed? What then? Part of an old nursery rhyme came to mind:

  Poor Bonnie Blue,

  Left her home to live in a shoe.

  Stayed one night,

  And much to her fright,

  Found time had passed untrue.

  Deciding he’d finally had enough, Andaris sprang to his feet and snatched one of the lantern-style sconces off the wall, anger flaring anew. How dare I! he thought. He was going to get to the bottom of this, once and for all! And, unlike in the dream, or rather in the dream that maybe wasn’t a dream, he would not, no matter what he found within, pass out.

  And so it was that Andaris Rocaren, son of Edward Rocaren, kicked open the door and flooded the room with wary light.

  Last Words

  Shouldering the door aside, Andaris watched with grim satisfaction as the shadows fled before him, his eyes wide with wonder. The hinges moaned in protest, rusty voices echoing down the hall.

  Andaris started to take a step forward, and then came to an abrupt halt instead, confronted, as he was, by…himself.

  For a time, he merely stood and stared, limbs and mind struck dumb. Then, calling upon reserves of will that he didn’t know he possessed, he slowly, haltingly, stepped into the room, holding the lantern before him like a sword, its light fending off the advance of dark shadow and even darker memory.

  There was no denying that he had been here before, many times, both in dream and reality. Indeed, he had seen it as it was now, lifeless and covered in dust. And he had seen it as it was before, welcoming and warm.