Hunter Brown and the Eye of Ends

by Chris Miller

  “We had our differences of opinion. I moved on,” Dad said curtly, leaving it at that. “And I’m the better for it.”

  His fiery expression told me this was as far as he was willing to go for now. Not wanting to press my luck, I followed his cue and dropped the subject.

  A moment later, Dad voluntarily added, “What I will say, Hunter, is that if I left them, it wasn’t to run away like a coward. It took guts to do what I did, to set out in search of the deeper truths beyond where the Codebearers’ teachings left off. I had a hunch that there was more to the story than what they were willing to discuss. I had a personal responsibility not to ignore the hard questions. That is why I set out on my own…to find the answers.

  “But now,” Dad said, steering us on to a more cheerful subject, “now I am not alone in my hard-core truth-seeking. With you here, I finally have someone to share all of my discoveries with!”

  Dad looked at me with such pride and affection. I never thought I would experience that again, but it felt so good. Never mind that I was still mostly in the dark as to what “discoveries” I’d actually stumbled onto. I just liked feeling my father’s pleasure.

  “May I?” Dad asked, reaching a hand out toward my sword.

  “I don’t know, can you?” I said, in light-hearted reference to the physical limitations he was experiencing in this world.

  “Don’t be silly,” Dad bantered back. “Of course I can. It’s just the collision between humans that I haven’t accounted for yet.”

  Right, I mockingly chided myself as I reached to unclasp my sword. Anyone would know that.

  Then I paused, remembering something. “I almost forgot,” I said, reaching across to my other side. “I brought something for you.” I unlatched the other weapon I had purposefully started carrying with me in hopes of someday sharing this very moment with my father.

  “Oh?” Dad said curiously, taking the Veritas Sword I presented to him, examining its black, twisted metal.

  “This one’s certainly seen better days,” he said, then attempted to hand it back to me. Noting the expectant look in my eyes, he asked, “Did I miss something?”

  I turned the sword over and presented it to him with the pommel facing up. Dad’s eyes lit up when he recognized the name engraved on the bottom: Caleb Brown.

  “This was mine!” Dad exclaimed. “Where on earth did you find this?” He ran his fingers over its distorted features some more, “and what did you do to it?”

  “Long story, but I recovered it from a certain Xin warrior named Xaul.”

  Dad nodded absently, apparently lost in reliving the haunting events that surrounded his rescue of the orphaned boy.

  I had anticipated Dad inquiring more about Xaul, or feeling prompted to shed a little more light on the mysterious business on the Shard of Inire that kept him from ever returning to the young Xin boy he’d entrusted his sword to. But Dad seemed to be avoiding his past at all costs.

  Holding his reclaimed weapon in front of him, Dad skillfully brought the unique, black-lighted blade to life. He seemed to be genuinely intrigued with his sword’s altered design, muttering things to himself about how he’d like to reverse engineer it and what he could improve on. After a few distracted moments, Dad turned his focus back to me.

  “What I intended to illustrate with the Veritas Sword,” Dad said, not missing a beat, “is its clear relationship to the Code of Life as the source of power. That relationship is so beautifully displayed in this matchless weapon.” The blade of light appeared and disappeared easily on command under my father’s skillful handling.

  “But as you might have learned,” he continued, handing the sword back to me for safekeeping, “the Code goes beyond just empowering weaponry; it flows through everything, providing a language for description of all things.”

  “Yeah,” I chimed in. “My science class back in Destiny described DNA sequences as being the code of life, like the letters in a sentence used to describe what we see around us.”

  “That’s right. Ah, here we are,” Dad said, pushing open a large glass door that led out onto an expansive balcony. “After you.”

  I stepped out into the warm, sweet-smelling air that begged to be breathed deeply. One of the richest fragrances came from potted fruit trees, artfully lining the balcony’s interior. The sky was in the middle of transitioning from radiant pink to a vibrant hue of orange that complimented the ripened peaches hanging from the trees’ branches. Dad pulled off a peach for each of us and tossed me one as we walked over to the railing. Leaning against it, I drank in the incomparable beauty surrounding me.

  “You’re on the right track with the DNA,” Dad said encouragingly, taking a bite of the juicy peach. “It’s a good start to understanding how the Code of Life is like a language woven together to create everything we see and experience. But that’s still only dealing with the tip of the iceberg. I want you to think of DNA as being only part of a subset language, if you will—of the grander, more complete language of the full Code of Life. If we think about it, there are more than just the three dimensions of the physical world that DNA deals with. Why concede that the Code stops there? It would stand to reason that it should extend to describe the other dimensions as well.”

  “Like what? Time?”

  “That’s our fourth dimension, yes. But you’re still only halfway there,” Dad said mysteriously, taking another bite.

  I stared blankly at my father. As much as I would have loved to continue impressing him, this conversation had now officially flown right over my head, like so many of the conversations I’d had with my scientific-minded best friend. This was Stretch’s element, not mine. Wrapping my brain around the idea of dimensions outside space and time was just not going to happen.

  “If my theories are correct,” Dad continued enthusiastically, “the Code of Life can be tracked through all ten dimensions that I maintain define our complete existence.”

  “O…kay,” I said slowly, trusting I hadn’t missed his point entirely. “So…isn’t that just a brainy way of saying that we believe the Author has control of all things?”

  Dad screwed up his face, obviously less than satisfied at the simplicity of my interpretation. “While that is a true statement—one you most certainly were taught in your training—you’d be selling yourself short of the bigger reward if you just accepted that statement at face value and stopped there. The promise behind the truth is this: if we can correctly discern a Code exists by which all things are created and controlled, then what is to stop us from learning it for our own uses?”

  “You’re telling me that you cracked the Code of Life?”

  “Is that too much to believe?” Dad asked, looking happily around at the world he’d already begun to author. He held out his half-eaten peach for me to see.

  “If I wanted to, I could rewrite this fruit to explode on impact. Or make a feather cut glass. The sky’s the limit! The Author’s designs are all mine to repurpose and perfect however I choose.”

  “How?” I challenged.

  Dad chuckled. “I thought you’d never ask. All right, let me make this as simple as I can.”

  He unfurled the collection of pages he’d brought with him from the table inside and smoothed them out atop a marble pedestal beside an ornately carved mahogany box. The pages revealed a new set of drawings, but the carving on the box was what caught my attention. The design on it looked vaguely like that of the Living Tree—the same one that appeared on the back of my Author’s Writ. Dad ignored the box and pulled my attention back to the drawings.

  “First, I take a known object….” He pointed to the top drawing, a fine series of sketches portraying a manta ray, one of his favorite subjects. “Then I examine its Code….” He pointed to the complex-looking set of cryptic notes, running in the margins and onto a second page.

  “Using a little imagination, I do my work….” Dad
took out the third page—a beautifully rendered drawing of a manta ray-type creature with elongated, jointed fins. In the lower corner of the page, he scribbled the word wingray. He promptly began folding it at sharp angles. Something about the drawing looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen it before. Dad concluded his folding technique while saying, “…restringing the original Code with new combinations of other known Codes, thus assuming authorship of my own design and…voilà!”

  He held up a finished paper airplane with a grin. “A wingray!”

  Before I could voice my dissatisfaction at this juvenile exercise, Dad drew back and launched the paper vessel out into the open sky. It sailed an impressive distance before its folds began to loosen and pull apart. Then, in an instant, the simple little paper did the impossible, transforming before my eyes into the fantasy creature I’d seen outlined in my Dad’s drawing. I heard Dad laughing as I stood slack-jawed, watching this tiny creature come to life and growing to extreme proportions at an alarming rate. Reaching a bank of distant clouds, the wingray made a wide turn to come soaring directly back over us in a dramatic fashion. I couldn’t repress the urge to duck as it swooped by overhead. It had grown even larger than I’d imagined; its enormous wingspan nearly covered the entire dome of the tower.

  After it disappeared, I turned back to my father who was still chuckling, enjoying this part all too much.

  “The paper can do that?” I said in awe.

  “Naw…the whole airplane was something I just thought up for you. I thought you’d enjoy the special touch since you appreciate magic tricks…or at least you used to when you were twelve.”

  He was right. I had somewhat outgrown that phase, but this was no ordinary magic.

  “So, you can create anything?”

  “A perfect sunset, a wingray…anything I want—just like that!” Dad snapped his fingers for effect.

  “Yeah, I got that part, Dad. What I was really looking for was the deeper answer. Where does the Code you are using actually come from? How are you controlling it? Nothing comes from nothing, right?” I asked.

  Dad was visibly pleased with my prowess, wagging a proud finger at my chest. “You really have a knack for this just like me, son…fantastic question. The answer lies in this.”

  As he said it, Dad opened the mahogany box that had captured my attention earlier and withdrew a hand-sized object, formed from silver rods in a unique scrolling pattern of branches. He slipped his middle fingers and thumb into the farthest-most loops, fitting it onto his hand perfectly. It looked something like a metallic glove. The device was certainly impressive, if for those features alone, but what commanded my attention the most was the brilliant red stone set in the middle of it all—a stone that could be confused with no other.

  “The Bloodstone…” I whispered, breathing in sharply. Of all the mind-bending discoveries I’d been subjected to since arriving in my father’s world, this one was hardest to comprehend. How had it survived? Hadn’t Aviad taken it from me and destroyed the cursed stone himself? If he had, then how could it be here now? Had he failed?

  “It’s not the Bloodstone,” Dad took it upon himself to correct me. “But you’re right in identifying it as a “bloodstone”...of sorts. This little beauty is my own design, a vial, really. With it, I was able to capture a portion of the Author’s Code of Life. Now all the secrets to commanding life itself are mine to hold.” Dad fingered the dazzling jewel affectionately.

  “But…at what cost?” I asked him, suddenly fearful for his life and mine. I could still feel the sting of searing pain I had experienced when I held the forbidden Bloodstone’s power, and knew all too well its ultimate promise of death.

  “What do you mean?” Dad asked casually, seeming oblivious to these threats.

  “It’s cursed! It says so in the Writ; the....”

  “The Bloodstone Prophecy—of course I’ve read up on it,” Dad interrupted. “It presented a dilemma at first—that’s why I chose to make a copy instead of looking for the original. Besides, if I’m not mistaken, Aviad already took care of that little problem for me by taking the curse upon himself. As far as I know, there is no curse anymore.”

  “You’re willing to bet your life on that?” I asked, surprised by his cold assessment of the matter.

  “I suppose it’s only natural for the Author to have put securities around something so powerful.

  But the way I figure, even if some part of the curse applied to my new bloodstone, it’s nothing I can’t undo, given time,” he added with a shrug. “I’ll crack it, just like the rest of the Code. And when I complete my research here, I’ll take what I know back to those still trapped in the confines of the Author’s story and lead them into one they deserve.”

  “You really believe you can improve on what the Author created?” I asked with amazement at what I saw as shameless arrogance.

  “I’m well on my way to figuring it all out. And once I have, it’ll be the perfect world with true freedom, freedom from the curse of the Shadow and....”

  “Freedom from the Author,” I finished, recognizing the inevitable conclusion. “But why are you so set on cutting him out?” I asked skeptically.

  “And why are you so set on keeping him?” Dad countered, acting flabbergasted that I’d even challenge the idea. “What has he done to gain your devotion? Can you say with any honesty that the world he’s created in Solandria or the Veil is ‘perfect’? Tell me, has it gotten any better since I was there last?”

  “Well…no. It’s not perfect,” I conceded reluctantly. At the same time, I felt a growing need to defend what I knew to be true. I tried to make my point with some humor, passing my hand through Dad’s midsection to illustrate, “but then, neither is this place, right?”

  “Oh, grow up,” Dad scowled, pushing away my hand with no effect whatsoever. “Of course, it’s not perfect yet, but at least I’m in control. Stick around and I’ll fix that too if it bothers you so much.”

  “That’s just it, Dad,” I said. “I can’t stay here. I’m here on a mission…to bring you back.”

  “Bring me back? You can’t be serious! You’ve seen this place. Why would I want to leave? Why would you?”

  “The family needs us, Dad,” I began to plead my case. “It’s been hard enough not having a dad while you’ve been in here chasing your wild theories, but now some real trouble has come....”

  “Trouble? Don’t lecture me like you know anything about real trouble!” Dad’s words exploded like a grenade. “You sound just like your mother, moaning about me spending too much time away. Well, maybe one of you should ask yourselves why I left in the first place. Maybe answering that tough question will be worth it one of these days, you think? Or are you just like the rest of them—too gutless to ask ’cause you might not like what you find?”

  By the time he’d finished his attack, Dad’s face was red with anger. It was a frightening image. I’d only seen him riled up like this a handful of times before. All of those times, Mom had been the one to take him on. This had never been an arena I was allowed to fight in before. But this time I was the only one here to speak in defense of the family. I let the steam build up against his arrogant accusations before launching my verbal counterstrike.

  “I’m the coward?” I shot back. “I’m not the one abandoning my family so I can run away and hide from the Watchers. You are!”

  My choice words had cut straight to the heart of the matter.

  “What do you know about that?” Dad asked fearfully, his red face turning pale immediately.

  “Probably too much,” I said with a sneer, feeling the guilty thrill of having won this round so swiftly. “You saw something in the Eye of Ends that Tonomis wants. That’s why he came after us; that’s why he took Mom and Emily.”

  Dad’s eyes widened at the mention of the Watcher’s name. “Th-that’s impossible!” he stammered.
“I thought I left him in the Eye, he shouldn’t have been able to….”

  “Well, apparently that wasn’t enough,” I said rather coldly.

  I could tell by his wild expression that Dad was frantically searching for some kind of solution to this fresh nightmare. As I watched genuine fear and hopelessness overtaking him, I felt my own anger melt away, to be replaced by pity.

  Dad began pacing nervously. “My research is not ready for this yet. I can’t do anything from here,” he said, giving voice to his internal battle of the mind. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Come back with me,” I finally said. “I need you to help me rescue Mom and Emily. You know what we’re up against with Tonomis better than I do. You outwitted him before. Whatever he is, we can fight this together as a team: father and son.”

  Dad looked at me with a deep and lonely sorrow. “I wish I could,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “Then…why don’t you?” I asked.

  For a moment Dad looked as though he would change his mind, but a second wave of regret crossed his face.

  “I…I just can’t,” he said at last, dropping his head in defeat.

  “Can’t…or won’t?” I argued.

  Dad looked visibly hurt by the barbed comment. He sighed. “It’s not that simple,” he said, not answering my question. “Hunter, you’re my only son. I love you so much, but there’s more at stake here than just your mother, Emily and you. If I go back it…it will only do more harm than good. You must believe me. It’s true; I’ve seen things in the Eye of Ends, things I wish I’d never known. And I did things back there I wish I’d never done, things that can’t be changed…or undone. I’m not the man I used to be.”

  “So that’s it then?” I asked, hardly believing what I had just heard. “You’re just giving up, content to stay here, cozy in your little world while your family dies out there?”