by S. G. Rogers
“They’ve passed away, but I sent an email to their daughter.”
“You think she can help?”
“I’m not sure, Sela.”
“I hope you find out something soon. I can’t keep covering for you.”
Jon chortled. “Did you say this was fragile?” He held the grocery bag high over his head, as if threatening to drop it.
“Okay, maybe I can keep covering for you.”
Jon lowered the bag. “Good answer.”
Chapter Six
Off the Cuff
When they got home, Jon fixed turkey sandwiches for lunch, with Popsicles for dessert. Sela’s mouth became stained cherry red after she ate hers. She giggled when she noticed the color of Jon’s mouth.
“You look funny,” she said.
“That’s probably not too hard.”
“Your lips are blue.”
Jon chuckled. “I don’t even know what flavor ‘blue’ is.”
“Wanna see what I made today?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said.
“Close your eyes.”
Jon did as he was told. His sister rummaged in her paper bag, making rustling sounds.
“Okay, you can look now,” she said.
Sela was now wearing a necklace made out of beads.
“Gee, squirt, that’s very pretty,” Jon said. “You made it by yourself?”
“Yep, and that’s not all.”
She brought her hand out from behind her back to show him her other project—an oval circlet of hammered copper, shaped to fit around her wrist. As Jon stared at it, something clicked.
“It’s a bracelet,” he whispered.
“Duh.”
“Can I see it?” he asked.
“Sure, but I don’t think it’s quite your style.”
Jon examined the oval circlet. The shapes were so similar there could be no doubt the metallic object he’d found in his father’s desk was a bracelet. He gave Sela’s bracelet back to her.
“Your new jewelry is great. I can’t wait to see what you do tomorrow.”
Sela giggled as she admired her handiwork. “I think we’re weaving pot holders and place mats.”
A few minutes later, Sela’s friend Lola came over. After they thundered upstairs to watch a DVD, Jon went to his room to look at his father’s bracelet. His heart practically stopped when he checked his email. June Stilwell had sent him a message. In the body of her reply was a telephone number, and in the subject line were the words Call Me.
****
Jon clutched the phone in his hand so tightly his knuckles showed white. He had to remember to breathe. “This is Jon Hansen, Mrs. Stilwell. I sent you the email about my dad, Greg Hansen?”
“Oh, yes, I’m so glad you called,” June Stilwell replied. “You say Greg is missing? I’m very worried. Do you have any idea where he is?”
“Er…no. He just disappeared one day. I’m looking for him, but there’s not a lot to go on. It might help if you could tell me how he came to live with your family. He never talked about it.”
“Well…my folks had a few foster kids over the years, but Greg was the most unusual.”
“How do you mean?” Jon asked.
“He was about sixteen when we first met, and I always suspected he came from an Amish family,” she said.
Jon was taken aback. “Amish?”
“You know how the Amish don’t live with modern conveniences? Certain things we take for granted, like cars, seemed to amaze Greg. He didn’t even know how to flip a light switch! Fortunately he picked things up quickly.”
“Did he have any possessions?” Jon asked.
Like any magical artifacts from another dimension?
“Very few. He carried an odd, Gothic-looking ring and a metal thing he called a ‘cuff’ in a fabric bag. My father made him a small wooden chest to keep them in.”
Dizziness swept over Jon and he had to squeeze his eyes shut in order to concentrate.
“Um…did my dad ever say anything about his childhood?”
“Greg told us he didn’t remember his family—like he had amnesia. But I don’t think that was true. He tried to hide it, but I could tell he was homesick. It was heartbreaking, but we never found a single relative to place him with. He could almost have been from a different planet.”
Yeah, a planet called Yden.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stilwell,” Jon said. “I appreciate your time.”
“There’s one other thing. I don’t know if it’s significant, but I think Greg had been abused. He talked in his sleep sometimes. He seemed to be afraid of someone called Efysian.”
Jon blanched.
“Listen, let me know when you find him, won’t you?” she asked. “Greg and I stayed in touch over the years. I’ve always been so proud of him.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled. His face had begun to feel numb. “Thanks, Mrs. Stilwell.”
Jon hung up and freaked out. “Holy smokes!”
Sela had guessed the truth. The whole Yden story was real. Was it the evil Wolf Clan wizard who’d kidnapped Dad? Efysian had to be older than dirt by now, but the man he’d seen with his father had been far from elderly. And what would Efysian want with his father anyway? Jon stared at Ophelia, stricken.
“Is Efysian coming for me next, Ophelia?” he asked. He wrenched her off his finger and stashed her in the crystal box alongside the pewter dragon. “I’m sorry, I can’t deal with you right now.”
He threw on some workout clothes and hurtled into the garage. For the next twenty minutes Jon was all about slamming knuckles into leather. As he cycled through different boxing combinations, he tried not to think about anything else.
Keep your guard up, Jon.
He felt the explosion of power from his muscles. He landed blow after punishing blow—as if to smash his fear.
Keep moving, Jon.
Drops of perspiration flew in every direction as he danced around the heavy bag, dodging and weaving an unseen opponent.
Dig in and give it everything you’ve got, kid.
As Jon unleashed the untapped reserve at his core, the chain supporting the heavy bag groaned from the stress. Moving on pure adrenaline, he heard only the sound of his own breathing as his lungs struggled to keep up with his demands. At last he paused; his body gave him no choice. He bent double at the waist, fighting the stitch in his side. Suddenly Jon realized he had an audience.
“Your brother is getting buff,” Lola whispered.
“Eew.”
Jon glanced over to see his sister and her friend standing in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at him. “What are you two doing?” he managed. Despite his cramp, he tried to keep his tone light. “Is everything okay?”
“We thought there was a cyclone in here,” Sela said. “But it’s only you.”
The girls ran out, giggling.
Jon removed his gloves, noting the fresh set of red welts in between his knuckles. He peeled off his tank top and headed for the laundry room. After he tossed his shirt into the washing machine, he struck a humorous bodybuilder pose in front of a mirror. His smile faded. Maybe he’d grown a couple of inches over the summer and added some guns, but it didn’t matter. Chaz had been right when he said putting on muscle didn’t make a person any braver. Beating the heavy bag into submission might make him feel better, but it was no substitute for action. He owed it to his father to keep pushing until he knew the whole truth.
****
Jon brought the dark blue fabric bag and cuff over to his drafting table and snapped on the light. When he slipped the cuff onto his wrist, the metal immediately molded itself to his skin and flexed with his movements. “Way cool,” he marveled.
As he watched, the dullness of the finish was replaced by a hard shine. After scrutinizing the cuff through a magnifying glass, Jon decided the markings were runes of some kind.
“If I have to translate ancient runes to figure this thing out, I’m doomed,” he murmured.
The b
lue fabric bag had a shaped opening but no drawstring. Pulling the bag inside out, he discovered more runes embroidered in silvery threads. He suddenly realized it wasn’t a bag at all—it was a hat.
Laughing, Jon moved over to the mirror on his closet door and pulled the hat over his hair. As he examined his reflection, he decided the hat reminded him of a floppy “muffin” hat he’d seen at a Renaissance fair once.
“Good thing there’s not a pair of matching tights,” he joked.
So his father had worn this hat and cuff when he was sixteen…along with Ophelia, of course. Jon reached for Ophelia to complete the triad, but then he heard his mother downstairs, calling him. She was home from work.
“I’ll be right there!” he yelled in response.
Jon hurriedly stuffed the hat and cuff under his pillow before he went to help his mother with dinner. The investigation would have to wait.
****
Mrs. Hansen stabbed a fork into her baked potato with more vigor than was absolutely necessary. “And then, on top of everything else, the server went down. Payroll might be late this week, and I hate it when people scream at me,” she said.
“I’m sorry you had such a bad day,” Jon said.
“I’ll let you wear my lucky bracelet,” Sela offered, holding up her copper circlet.
“Maybe you’d like to punch the heavy bag after dinner,” Jon added, flexing his raw knuckles. “I softened it up for you earlier.”
Mrs. Hansen glanced at her son’s bare hands. “I notice you were finally able to take the ring off your finger, Jon. If you get it for me now, I’ll take it to the bank tomorrow.”
Jon’s eyes grew wide and panic set in, but then Sela came to his rescue.
“Ow,” she said, doubling over. “My stomach hurts.”
“How do you mean, sweetie?” Mrs. Hansen asked. “Is it a stabbing pain or an ache?”
“It’s kind of a stabbing ache,” she replied. “Ow.”
Mrs. Hansen took Sela upstairs to give her some tummy medicine. Jon shoveled the rest of his pot roast and vegetables into his mouth, did a slap-dash job of cleaning the kitchen, and then rushed to his room to hide Ophelia in the toe of his filthiest tennis shoe. His sister might be able to work the tummy angle all night if she had to, but he couldn’t count on Sela distracting his mother forever. Afterward, Jon settled down to study his driver’s manual. With school looming next week, he’d be unable to reschedule the test any time soon. He had to pass the first time.
****
At breakfast the next morning, Sela was chipper and eager to go to camp.
“I’m not sure you should go today, Sela,” Mrs. Hansen said. “You seemed very sick last night.”
Sela grabbed another blueberry muffin. “Yeah, but I’m much better now.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Mrs. Hansen said.
Jon helped himself to a muffin and some juice.
“Today’s the big day, isn’t it, Jon?” Mrs. Hansen asked. “I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you.”
“Thanks. I’m kind of nervous to tell the truth,” Jon said.
“Everyone is scared when they take their driver’s test. You’ll do fine,” she replied.
“Only don’t run over the guy giving you the test. That would be an epic fail,” Sela said.
“When is Chaz coming by this afternoon?” Mrs. Hansen asked.
“My appointment is for three o’clock, so he’ll probably be here a half hour beforehand.”
“Remind him to stay for dinner. Sela, I’m going upstairs to brush my teeth, and then I’ll take you to camp,” she said.
After Mrs. Hansen left the kitchen, Jon gave Sela two thumbs up. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he whispered. “You’re a pretty good little actress.”
“I know. I pulled your buns out of the fire yet again.”
When Mrs. Hansen returned with her purse a few minutes later, Sela made a mad dash for the garage. “See you later!”
“I’ll be there at noon to walk you home,” Jon called out.
“By the way, Jon, I have your ring,” Mrs. Hansen said, holding up the crystal box. “See you tonight.”
The door closed behind her and Jon’s eyes bugged out. He sprinted to his room, but when he upended his dirty tennis shoe, Ophelia dropped into the palm of his hand. His mother must have taken the crystal box without looking inside, mistaking the pewter dragon for Ophelia. Sighing with relief, he slipped the ring on.
“That was a close call, Ophelia.”
His morning completely free, Jon refocused his attention on what he’d begun to call his Yden investigation. As much as the prospect of rune translation seemed daunting to him, he was out of other options. An Internet search for runes yielded an overwhelming number of results, but if he could copy the markings down accurately, maybe he’d find a match. He spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get a rubbing of the etchings. Unfortunately, since the etchings were so fine, the rubbing didn’t work. Finally, he decided to wear the cuff until the runes became more visible. It would be tedious, but with the help of the magnifying glass, he could copy them down.
“Okay, buddy,” he said. He slipped the cuff onto his left wrist. “Show me your secrets.”
The cuff had felt warm and liquid the night before, but he hadn’t been wearing his ring then. Now, an unexpected tingling sensation emanated from the cuff. A vibration shot up his arm, across his chest, and down to Ophelia. Jon gasped and reached toward the cuff to remove it—too late. A flash of light dazzled his eyes and the sound of distant thunder echoed in his ears, and then he wasn’t in his room anymore.
Chapter Seven
Transport into Trouble
One moment Jon was sitting at his drafting table. In the next, he was sprawled in the middle of a dirt road, having fallen painfully on his behind. His wrist was still tingling, as if he'd stuck his finger in a light socket, and his nostrils burned with the unmistakable scent of ozone.
“Get out of the way!” a man yelled.
A wooden cart, pulled by a team of enormous horses, was bearing down on him. Jon rolled to the side as the cart rumbled past, its wheels barely clearing his head. The driver dragged the team to a halt. “I should report you to the cygards,” he snarled.
Before Jon realized what was happening, the driver’s arm recoiled and he let loose a bullwhip. The popper cracked mere centimeters from Jon’s face. As he scrambled to his feet, the cart moved on, raising a cloud of dust in its wake. Jon stumbled backward, coughing, but then the tail of a strange animal snaked around his waist. The beast resembled a stocky horse, but it had stubby horns and hard ridges where the mane should be. The tail was reminiscent of a small elephant’s trunk. Jon shuddered and twisted out of the animal’s reach.
A plump woman hurried toward him, parcel in hand. “You there! Step away from my puleden!”
Puleden?
“S-sorry,” Jon stammered.
When the extraordinary creature wrapped its muscular tail around the woman’s parcel, Jon gaped in amazement.
“What’re you looking at, vagrant?” the woman snapped.
Without waiting for an answer, the woman unhitched her puleden from a rough-hewn post and led it away. Jon narrowly avoided the road apple the animal left in its wake.
As he took in his surroundings, his mind refused to accept what his eyes were showing him. Somehow he’d traveled instantaneously to a village plucked straight from the pages of a medieval storybook. People were shopping at a busy open-air marketplace nearby, which consisted of rustic wooden stalls, booths, and tents. No cars were on the road, nor could Jon see any modern machinery of any kind. Women were clothed in long, coarsely woven dresses, while men wore cloth shirts and trousers with hide vests. Everyone over a certain age seemed to be wearing a hat of one sort or another. The vendors at the food booths wore the same kind of two-cornered hat oddly similar in shape to ones Jon had seen at fast-food joints.
When a light rain began to moisten his skin, Jon focused his
attention upward. To his astonishment he saw not one but two suns in between the streaky, gray clouds. One was nearly overhead and the other, much smaller sun was on the horizon. The realization he was no longer on Earth began to sink in.
I’m on Yden.
The clouds parted and a sudden shaft of daylight blinded Jon for a moment. Buffeted by passing crowds, a sudden vertigo swept over him. He sank down on a nearby bale of hay. He hadn't counted on magical transportation being so disorienting.
“Is this real or is it a nightmare, Ophelia?” he murmured. “Somebody wake me up.”
