by Chris Miller
Nothing comes from nothing...Every detail, down ta the very cells inside yer body, is a result of the Author’s handiwork.
“In conclusion,” Tanner said at last, sparking movement in the class for the first time since he started, “when you consider how many things had to go just our way in order for life to exist, well…you should feel very privileged and inspired to take advantage of every moment.” He snapped the textbook shut and added, “Any questions?”
I raised my hand before I could talk myself out of it.
“Yes, Mr. Brown, what is it?” he inquired.
“Are you saying that the Code of Life…I mean, our DNA… just formed out of nothing?”
“Well…not directly. I’m saying that over time what once was nothing became the most simple form of something and mutated through random selection and eons of time into the complex sequence of genetic codes we know today are capable of creating life.”
“But all by accident, right?” I asked.
“Yes, if you want to look at it that way—a series of wonderfully grand accidents.” A smile of satisfaction crossed Mr. Tanner’s lips, and he began scanning the room for another question. I raised my hand again.
“Yes, Mr. Brown,” he said dryly.
“But what if it wasn’t random?” I asked. “Isn’t it more likely that there is an Author of the Code?”
At this everyone still awake turned to look at me.
Mr. Tanner was not distracted, “Ah yes, the theory of the Invisible Hand, the Author of Life or the Grand Architect as some call it. Yes that idea has been batted around for ages…though I must say it has been abandoned now for hundreds of years. Modern science is able to fill in the gaps to the point where we don’t require the presence of any mastermind orchestrating our development—just time and chance are sufficient.”
“But that’s impossible!” I challenged, surprised at myself for saying it.
“I beg your pardon!” Mr. Tanner said, confounded by what he considered to be my lack of respect for his teaching.
“No offense, Mr. Tanner, but how on earth can something so complex and well-organized just happen on its own—from nothing?”
“I’ve already told you; given a sufficient amount of time anything is possible,” he claimed.
“Like this book?” I asked, holding up a copy of our biology book. “Did it just happen to pop into existence as well?”
Mr. Tanner folded his arms in front of him and raised one of his bushy eyebrows. I expected him to scold me for speaking out, but surprisingly he took a different approach.
“I assume you are going somewhere with this,” Tanner prodded.
“Well, you said that our DNA code is over 7 billion characters long, right? That’s more than all of the letters in all of the words in this book combined.”
“Yes…and your point is?”
“It just seems that everything you said about the complexity of the Code of Life points to the fact that it was intentionally made to be this way and not just a product of chaos and chance. After all, if a simple book can’t write itself, how can we be expected to believe that living cells could have?”
Mr. Tanner said nothing. His arms were crossed and he stared at me with unblinking thought.
“What if we’re not here by accident? What if we’re part of something bigger and deeper? What if our world…and our lives are a story written for us to discover? I think the Code of Life is evidence that we might be part of a greater plan; that there is an Author who intended for us to exist and has a purpose for us. Every day is another chapter—another adventure waiting to be lived.”
There was a short silence, followed by an eruption of laughter from the students around me.
“Dude, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Cranton the school bully scoffed at me from two desks forward. “If our lives are part of a story like you said, then what is the point of getting up in the morning?”
“No kidding,” another piped in. “What a depressing thought!”
The laughter continued as I shrunk back into my chair. Stretch didn’t even turn around—too embarrassed to acknowledge me. Finally it was Mr. Tanner who spoke out.
“Now, now class; we must respect everyone’s opinion no matter how strange it may seem to us.”
Buzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The bell couldn’t have come at a better time. Mr. Tanner tried to keep our attention for one last announcement about the next day’s homework, but it was too late. The moment the bell had buzzed, the entire classroom moved for the door. I ducked into the stream of students and escaped the classroom unnoticed.
No sooner had I placed a foot in the hallway than a sharp tug on my backpack pulled me aside. I spun around and found myself face to face with Stretch, my last best friend. He was not happy.
“Dude, what were you thinking in there?” he challenged, obviously annoyed at something I had said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You know—all that talk about the Author and stuff in class. I thought we agreed we were going to forget about it.”
“No, you decided to forget about it when you walked through the green door. I never agreed to forget,” I said, setting the record straight.
“Enough with the green door thing already, okay? The point is you didn’t have to bring it up in class.”
“Well, I couldn’t just sit there and let him lie about what I believe without…”
Stretch finished the sentence for me, “…without making us both look stupid! People are going to assume I believe what you do!” he said.
“So what if they do? I never knew you cared about what other people think,” I said. Stretch looked visibly upset; something was bothering him.
“I don’t! It’s just that…Look, I’m glad you found something to believe in, Hunter, I really am…” he stopped himself from finishing the thought.
“But…” I prodded.
“But you know I don’t believe in it like you do. Besides, we’re in tenth grade now. You just can’t go blurting out whatever you want. Nobody will take you seriously anymore.”
“But you were there with me, Stretch; we both fell into the grave together. Don’t you remember the Dispirits? Evan’s sword? The disappearing bookshop?” I asked, still finding it hard to believe that he could remember nothing at all.
“Hunter, we’ve been over this before. I’m sure there is a logical explanation for everything that happened that night.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” I challenged.
“I don’t know. Like somebody was getting even with us for pranking him or her earlier in the year. Maybe they were trying to teach us a lesson or something.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“Like THAT explains it!”
“Just keep it to yourself, okay?” Stretch pleaded.
A loud clatter from across the hallway pulled our attention toward the trashcan that usually stood out slightly from the corner. The can had toppled to the floor from an apparent collision and was currently rolling away. A lanky kid I’d never seen before lay sprawled in the trail of trash left behind, in an embarrassing display of clumsiness. What happened next was both unfortunate and hilarious at the same time. The rolling can somehow managed to take a sharp turn and plowed directly into the back of Cranton’s legs just as he was bending over the water fountain to get a drink.
“Somebody’s gonna pay for this!” bellowed Cranton as he lifted his freshly drenched face from the stream of water.
The new kid picked himself up and began to apologize to everyone around him as he leaned over to pick up the trash. His skin was a soft java brown and he wore his hair in braided dreadlocks, which fell into his face from time to time. Unfortunately, being new to the school, he was also completely oblivious to the severity of the situation he had caused—any normal person would have been running for his life by
now. Clearly, he had no clue who Cranton was or what he was capable of.
“You! Dweeb!” Cranton demanded, stomping over to where the boy stood. “Did you do this?” he asked pointing to his face.
“Oh, I’m sorry; was that my fault? I just…” the boy started, but didn’t get to finish his statement. Everyone gasped as Cranton picked the kid up by his shirt and slammed his back into the lockers.
“What’s yer name?” he growled at the boy, water still dripping off his eyebrows.
The boy, obviously in pain, tried his best to answer despite the fact he could hardly breathe, “R-R-Rob.”
“Well, Rob. You think it’s funny to get me wet, is that it?” Cranton asked, still holding Rob against the lockers.
“N-n-no, I just tripped on my laces, that’s all. See?” Rob lifted his foot and pointed at his beat-up shoes. The laces had come undone and were hanging limply to one side.
“Well that’s too bad. You got me wet, and now I’m going to return the favor. I think it’s time for a Royal Flush!” he said with a smile.
The crowd around him started chanting their approval, “Swirly, swirly, swirly!” as Cranton and his pals grabbed Rob and started down the hall. Even Stretch joined in on the chant. I looked over at him in disbelief.
“Hey, it’s not me this time,” Stretch said, leaving me behind and following the crowd. “I gotta watch this!”
I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the kid. Even though we had never met, there was something about him that I liked right away. His eyes were expressive and honest. He acted like he didn’t care what others thought about his level of “coolness.” I could tell he was a genuinely nice guy right from the start—although a bit clumsy. Cranton was bad enough last year but this year he seemed determined to make life miserable for anyone who looked at him the wrong way. Poor Rob, he didn’t deserve what was coming to him, but I wasn’t about to step in. I already had a big enough target on my back; there was no need to attract Cranton’s attention now.
Fortunately, a teacher happened to be walking by and intervened before Rob could be flushed by the mob. Grateful for the escape, Rob nervously gathered his things and did his best to disappear around the corner before the teacher left the area. In the rush, he absentmindedly dropped a paper. The light blue sheet was the same one plastered all over the hallways on every third locker—an invitation for all students to attend the Destiny Fair for free this Friday. The fair was an annual event the school promoted at the start of each school year.
I walked over, picked up the abandoned flyer and was about to toss it in the trash when a sketch on the top corner caught my eye. It was only a doodle, but the mark was unmistakable—three interlocking V’s. It was the same mark I had come to know as the Author’s Mark, the very one that adorned my medallion from Solandria. Was it possible that Rob knew about the Author as well? I stood there, staring at the design and trying to figure out what it meant.
“So, are you gonna go?” a cheery voice shook my focus away from the paper. It was Trista, my sister’s new best friend.
She clutched her books tightly as she swayed back and forth. She hardly ever stood still—one of the most energetic and upbeat people I knew. With such a positive attitude, I figured her to be an odd match for my sister but somehow their friendship worked.
On her left wrist, she wore a collection of mismatched bracelets and bands, a fading fashion trend she was determined to revive. At the moment she was smacking a piece of gum—something she always seemed to have in her mouth. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a long ponytail with a dark streak up the left side. Her smile held two of the deepest dimples you’d ever see—the kind of smile that was hard not to like.
“Oh hi, Trista…uh…go where?” I asked.
“You know, the fair,” she said, playfully grabbing the sheet out of my hand and holding it out in front of me. “Students are free tonight. You are going, right?”
“Oh, that…yeah. Stretch and I were planning on meeting up.”
“Well, my dad’s working there this year,” she bragged. “I told your sister that he can totally hook us up with free tickets. Maybe you guys would want to hang out with us?”
“Hey, yeah, that’d be great,” I replied.
The school bell buzzed again, interrupting our conversation.
“Gotta go. I’ll see you tonight then,” Trista said cheerfully before spinning on her heel and zipping away to class.
“Yeah, later,” I nodded, watching her disappear into the crowd of people fighting to make it down the hall to their next classes. Turning back to my locker, I hurried to gather my books and shove them into my backpack. The hall had emptied fast. Lucky for me my next class was only two doors down. I would be right on…
BLAM!
My locker door swung shut, just missing my head as it flew by. A black shape lunged out from behind the locker door and plowed into me, slamming my body forcefully to the ground. The impact completely knocked the wind out of me. Before I could react, my bag had been stripped from my shoulder and the rapid sound of footfalls could be heard racing away down the hall.
Scrambling to my feet, I was just able to catch a glimpse of a black, fully-cloaked figure before it ducked around the corner with my backpack. It was the first time I had been this close, but I knew in an instant it was the stalker!
Chapter 3
The Shadow’s Message
Without thinking twice, I took off in pursuit. Moments later I was staring down an empty side hall—the quick-footed thief had vanished! Or he would have if not for the sound of a familiar creak followed by a slam. My attacker’s attempt to give me the slip had just been foiled by the men’s bathroom door.
If not for the fact that this individual had shadowed me for weeks, I probably would have walked away. After all, it was just a backpack and there was little of value in it other than barely average grades. But instincts told me there was something more behind this stalker—he had been planning this for days. If I didn’t confront him now, I might never get the chance. Besides, showing up to class without a bag or books would just mean more questions, and right now I needed answers. This mystery had to be solved.
I paused as I reached the bathroom door. Then, taking a deep breath I slowly pushed it open, being careful not to let the hinges squeak.
A collection of crumpled paper towels littered the orangey-brown tiled floor just inside. The unpleasant smell of musty porcelain filled the air. Quietly, I slipped inside. Taking cover behind the protective wall that kept the stalls and sink area out of sight, I listened carefully for any movement.
Drip, drip, drip.
One of the sinks had not been shut off completely and was allowing a drop of water to escape every other second. But I thought I could hear something else between the drips; quiet, slow and steady. I swallowed hard, finally recognizing the sound. It was breathing! I was definitely not alone. Easing my head out around the wall, I slowly scoped the scene.
The window was securely shut—there was no other way out. Wherever the thief was, he was hiding nearby.
Spotting a mop in the corner by the door, I quickly formed a plan. I’d just step out and give the coward a surprise attack of his own.
Putting on my bravest face, I did just that. My voice echoed off the tiled walls, “Hey, punk! Is this what you were looking for?” I brandished the mop as deftly as I would have a sword.
The lack of any response unnerved me a bit, but I tried again. “Playing hide-and-seek now? Aren’t you a little old for that?”
This time, a response did come, but it wasn’t a voice. The lights above the sink flickered and dimmed. Something seemed to be sapping the very energy from the room.
The door to the first stall squeaked slowly open, but there was nobody inside. There, on the floor beside the toilet, my backpack lay slumped open. Above it a message was written on the stall’s wall in wet b
lack ink, reminding me of the black blood that once ran through my veins in Solandria. The message was followed by a serpentine mark—the mark of the Shadow.
Death to Codebearers §
Any bravery I had mustered quickly gave way to a gripping fear. Clearly, my stalker had vicious intentions.
The mop clattered on the floor where I dropped it. Scooping up my bag, I turned on the spot and headed straight for the door. I pulled on the handle but the door wouldn’t budge. I yanked harder but it still held firm, as if an invisible foe was holding it shut. My fear swelled to a new high with a sudden realization: this was no prank.
This was the work of the Shadow. They had come for me.
My plan seemed so foolish now in the face of this. I had walked into a trap! I had no weapon—no means of defending myself against the Shadow. My heart began to race at a near-panic pace, and my imagination ran wild with the possibilities of what kind of creature lay in wait for me.
The exit was sealed. I had no choice but to face my invisible threat. That is when a passage from the Author’s Writ suddenly sprang to mind: “By his fear a man appoints his master.” Those words rang true inside me, giving me courage. Though the odds were not in my favor, I could not let this enemy master me. I was a Codebearer! I served the Author!
Emboldened by this thought, I took up the mop once again. Gripping the wooden handle tightly in my sweaty palms, I knew there was little hope it would actually help, but at least I’d go out with a fight.
I resolutely made my way into the open again, every muscle tensed. Nothing moved. Scanning down the row of stalls, I took note of the handicap stall in the far corner. It was the only one that was shut. That was where the Shadow hid—behind that door. Even now I could hear its slow breathing coming from that corner. It was waiting, perhaps watching me from a crack.
If I had any hopes of surviving long, I would need to hit it fast and hard. I needed to gain some kind of advantage by creating surprise. I closed my eyes one last time, gritted my teeth and swallowed hard. Then, in a full-out charge at the stall, I aimed a flying kick at the door and screamed at the top of my lungs:
