The Silver Sphere

by Michael Dadich

  "He's still a renegade and a criminal."

  A brusque silence followed, until insects chirped and their buzzing filled the air. An animal rustled in the underbrush somewhere in the distance. Shelby was sure she heard a bird quack above, but when she glanced up, there was nothing in the trees except leaves.

  Mr. Dempsey's typically calm expression was strained, and he appeared about as confused as she.

  He peered at her and motioned to lean in. "Seems these are our friends who sent you the message," he whispered. "From what they're saying, they don't sound hostile. They mentioned a portal of some sort, I guess like a teleportation device. It sounds inconceivable." He shook his head. "I want to talk to them. You hide here and listen. When I know it's safe, I'll call you in."

  "No way! No way will I let you go by yourself."

  "Now, Shelby, I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. This isn't a debate. Your safety is my priority, and that's that."

  She nodded, but it still bothered her. After all, she'd stood up to the beast and managed to escape. Didn't he realize she was the ninja girl? She'd be more help to him if he'd take her with him.

  He studied her a moment with a puzzled frown. "You seem different—older or something. Maybe it's just the light." They were still crouched at the mouth of the cave.

  She shrugged.

  "Okay, wish me luck." He walked toward the flickering titian.

  She crept forward, straining her ears as the two strangers spoke.

  "We'll wait a little longer," Barrick said, "and then we should spread out. I don't want to be the only Meridian soldier in history to lose a Kin," he hollered. He seemed to have a bad temper.

  Shelby repressed a shiver. The shouting man reminded her of the beast, but she forced herself to stay calm. I'm the ninja girl, she thought, mouthing the words. Her fingers tightened around the cold rock of the cave. I can do this.

  She squinted and tried to view what was occurring ahead. Mr. Dempsey still shuffled forward through the foliage. She watched him for a moment, but spotted little else. While she strained to see, she heard the other man use that word again—Kin. What was a Kin, anyway? Could she be a Kin? Maybe Mr. Dempsey was right, and these two were waiting for her.

  She snuck closer and hid behind a tree to get a clearer picture. As Mr. Dempsey approached a campsite, she crept beside a wide, short evergreen.

  Pine needles dug into the palms of her hands and scraped against her pants while she crawled. As she ducked under the tree, branches grabbed her hair. She pulled her strands free, careful not to make a single sound. Once settled, she poked her head around the trunk.

  Her jaw dropped and her eyes bulged at what she witnessed. Nothing could have prepared her for this.

  Mr. Dempsey stood speechless before two figures crouched beside a campfire. Dusk was falling, bruising the twilight above. It had been sunset when she and Mr. Dempsey arrived, but night was truly upon them now.

  "Who goes there?" Sculptor demanded, jumping to his feet.

  She blinked hard. The voices had sounded ordinary, but these individuals weren't normal. They had typical skin and hair, yet they were built for war. Even the football players at her high school seemed scrawny compared to the two troopers—especially the one called Barrick. They resembled characters in a movie about Camelot and King Arthur, not people from modern-day Earth.

  Barrick rose, his muscles bulging through the studded armor and boiled leather he wore. His beefy forehead was almost absent in an untamed jungle of eyebrows, and his neck seemed as thick as a ship's mast. He eased a large sword from its scabbard. The blade gleamed in the flickering light of the campfire.

  Mr. Dempsey stood motionless while Barrick glowered at him.

  In one swift motion, Sculptor stepped toward Mr. Dempsey and aimed a pistol at the librarian's head. Sculptor's lean, abnormally long face expressed little. Shelby thought she glimpsed a glimmer of fear cross his eyes, but it was gone in an instant. The dark blue cape strapped to his shoulders stirred in the breeze. One portrayed a medieval warrior and the other some sort of futuristic policeman in Arthurian armor.

  She wanted to dart out from behind her tree to keep them from hurting Mr. Dempsey, but fear froze her to the spot. Barrick, the short one with the sword, wore a fierce sneer, and for a moment, she thought she saw the beast in him. A whimper escaped her. Her nails dug into the tree's soft bark, and cold sweat rolled down her temples. If she allowed them to hurt Mr. Dempsey, she'd never forgive herself.

  "Speak up, dear sir," Sculptor snapped, "or I will unleash Barrick upon you. They say his people are closet cannibals."

  "Shut up, you raging idiot," Barrick said, his glare still focused on Mr. Dempsey.

  "I, uh-um, w-well, I, I..." Mr. Dempsey stammered.

  "Well, well," Sculptor said. "You are quite the vocalist, my dear sir. Perhaps you should audition as an announcer for the games at Fornax. You would do just fine, better than the biased gibberish Jeb Rooza and his sidekicks regurgitated at last year's events, eh, Barrick?"

  Barrick seethed with anger. "Shut up, you blasted fool. This is serious. He resembles a citizen of Earth, yet he may be Malefic's spy." The brute trudged forward a step, his long sword raised, the sharp blade glittering like magma.

  Shelby shook with terror.

  "Identify yourself at once," Barrick said.

  "How original, my dear Barrick," Sculptor scoffed, throwing his partner a weary glance. "I didn't suspect you were an avant-garde man. Such a progressive demand merits your potential as a poet."

  Mr. Dempsey snapped out of his stupor. "Hold on now," he called. "I presume I'm present due to something about a portal you opened. I was in the library, and went to the storage room for supplies, and then I was here."

  Sculptor cocked an eyebrow. "The Rutherford B. Hayes Library?"

  "Why y-yes, actually. I-I'm its curator, Walter Dempsey."

  "Please tell me, how'd such an average president manage to get an athenaeum named after him?" Sculptor offered a wry smile. "Why not a school, or better yet, a stadium?"

  Barrick huffed. "Stop jesting! We need to learn if this person knows anything about Shelby Pardow."

  He sheathed his sword and prowled closer. Though Mr. Dempsey towered over him, Barrick appeared a formidable figure. The stout man looked much stronger than Mr. Dempsey, and twice as mean as the beast.

  Shelby ducked lower to the ground, trembling. She prayed Barrick wouldn't hurt poor Mr. Dempsey.

  Barrick bowed on bended knee. "Forgive me, my friend, and trust me. We'll not harm you. Seems to be a miscommunication. We were looking for a girl named Shelby. But now that you're here, you must come with us so Lord Achernar can resolve the issue. We apologize, sir, for any inconvenience we have caused you."

  Sculptor holstered his gun. "Yes, we're sorry, sir. My personal apologies that I was placed on this all-important mission with a bumbling buffoon like Barrick. Why, he can't even open the mobile portal at the right place!"

  Barrick, still on his knee, grimaced at Sculptor and discharged a low growl.

  Such odd cohorts. Shelby exhaled. Some bark of the tree remained stuck in her nails as she released her grip. Barrick, though a fearsome person, seemed more easily tempered than the beast.

  "What do you need Shelby for?" said Mr. Dempsey.

  "Well, sir, the situation is complex. Let's just say our destiny sways in the balance without her help and the rest of the Kin. Always the case when Biskara is involved." Barrick rose from his knee. "The Kin are the only ones who can locate those on the Aulic Assembly, who have gone missing."

  Mr. Dempsey looked lost in thought as he tapped his chin with his forefinger. "Lord Achernar... you said before. Hmm, if I do recall, Achernar is the brightest star in the constellation Eridanus in the southern hemisphere of the universe."

  "Oh yes, sir, you are absolutely right." Barrick beamed. "He is the brightest king of all, Achernar is."

  "A king, you say. Pray tell, where on Earth are we?"

>   Sculptor belted out a high-pitched laugh as he strode closer to the librarian. The sound startled Shelby, and she drew farther behind the tree, ignoring the tingling sensation running through her like an electrical current. Crouching for so long must have put her limbs to sleep.

  "Earth? My dear sir," Sculptor said, "you aren't listening to us. We are on Azimuth, over two hundred light years from your planet."

  Shelby leaned back around the trunk, examining Barrick and Sculptor. The unsettling pang in her stomach was fading. Barrick still made her a little uneasy, but she really liked Sculptor. He was funny and kind to Mr. Dempsey so far.

  "Nonsense. Where are we? Traveling that distance isn't possible, especially without the proper... uh... a ship or... or...." Mr. Dempsey fell silent.

  Shelby frowned. The two men were pokerfaced.

  Mr. Dempsey must have seen it too, because he whispered, "You're not kidding about this portal, are you?"

  "'Tis a shock, sir, always is. Methinks I'd react the same way if the tables were turned. Thank heavens the portal makes it so we speak the same language."

  Barrick held out his water canteen. "Thirsty?"

  "No. I mean... yes." Mr. Dempsey sounded parched. He accepted the container and guzzled. After returning it, he walked several steps from the side of the campfire and gazed up into the darkness.

  By now, the sky was black and Shelby could make out a few stars.

  Mr. Dempsey was silent for a few long seconds.

  Shelby held her breath, waiting to hear his next words. She yearned to know what a Kin was and why these two wanted to see her.

  "You don't mean to harm me in any way?" Mr. Dempsey asked at last, and turned toward Barrick.

  "On my honor as a Tuskarian, sir, no. I wouldn't let you wander around and get yourself killed, either, considering it's my fault you're here." Barrick walked over and extended his hand.

  Mr. Dempsey hesitated briefly before raising his hand, and Barrick grasped his forearm. Mr. Dempsey returned the gesture, and they nodded to one another.

  Releasing his grip, Mr. Dempsey said, "Now, Barrick, how do I get back to Earth? Can you reopen that portal gizmo?"

  Barrick shook his head. "Alas, it only accepts guests from Earth. Yet all is not lost. Lord Achernar will be able to transport you back. I'm sure of it."

  Mr. Dempsey nodded, holding his chin. "What do you intend to do when you find Shelby?"

  "Why, we're sworn to protect her with our lives, and take her to meet the rest of the Kin and Lord Achernar."

  "So your mission involves others? Other children?"

  "Children? I guess on Earth they're considered children, but the Kin are fierce adversaries on Azimuth."

  "What are these 'Kin' you speak of, Barrick?"

  Sculptor stepped forward. "We have to take you to Achernar, Mr. Dempsey. We can discuss as we ride. Malefic's soldiers are combing the woods, and we need to move out. Our first priority is finding Shelby. She's mincemeat if Malefic finds her before we do." Sculptor's tone had gone from playful to serious. His expression had changed, too. He rubbed his temples and his brow contorted.

  "Well, I don't think finding her will be much of a problem at this point." Mr. Dempsey walked in Shelby's direction. He paused and glanced around, rubbing the back of his neck, then shouted up the path. "Hey, Shelby, you can come down now."

  "I'm right here," she blurted, stepping from behind the tree. A few pine needles stuck to her hair, and she picked them out as she edged toward him. She was careful of the underbrush.

  The glare of the campfire illuminated her arrival.

  Mr. Dempsey gaped. "Shelby, you are older. I thought it was just the light! And your clothes...."

  She stared down and gasped. Similar garb to Sculptor and Barrick replaced her old attire. Now she wore brown leather pants and a matching shirt. She expected such fabric to be stiff, but the outfit fit like a second skin. Around her waist was a boiled ox-hide belt with studs and a gold buckle.

  "I... I'm t-taller," she stuttered.

  She then inspected Mr. Dempsey. In the dark, it had been hard to tell, but now she viewed him clearly. The lines under his eyes and around his mouth had gone. "Mr. Dempsey, you're younger!" Despite his transformation, he still wore the same khaki pants and sweater vest from Earth.

  Mr. Dempsey studied himself and then placed his hands closer to the fire. "I do feel better than I have in years. Remarkable."

  "Well, thank the stars and all our mothers," Sculptor said, sounding relieved. "Something good! Now I can go back to Meracuse with pride and not have to report to Achernar that we lost a Kin. Not to mention this Tuskarian brute! He's so hard to work with!"

  Mr. Dempsey began, "Shelby—"

  "I listened to everything. This is crazy."

  "I know. I can't explain it—or believe what happened."

  She turned to Sculptor and Barrick. "Lord Achernar sent you to retrieve me?"

  "Yes, milady. Captain Lazzo Barrick of the second brigade, third division of the alliance of Meridia. I am also your designated interceptor. Nevertheless... at your service." He bowed.

  "I've been stuck with this raving brute from Tuska before, madam," Sculptor said. "So no need to fret. For a fortnight, I have traveled with this savage, and I'm accustomed to his eccentricities. Please, forgive him his lack of manners. I'm Sculptor Luten. Charmed to meet you." He swirled his arm in a flowery bow, then straightened again and studied the dark trees. "Since the introductions have been made, we must be off. Malefic is roaming through these parts, and it is important we return to our battalion."

  "Malefic?" asked Mr. Dempsey.

  "We'll have plenty of time to discuss everything, sir, but questions will need to be answered on the road. For now, we, my merry group, are off." Sculptor spun on his heels with a flourish of his cape.

  Shelby and Mr. Dempsey eyed the splendid steed Barrick brought before them. The Clydesdale had a shiny, chocolate-colored coat with a honey-blonde mane. A feathering of long, cream-colored hair gracing the back of its legs flapped as it trotted over. The horse snorted.

  "This is Lenore," Barrick said, and fed her a sugar cube. "She's very well trained, so don't fret if you've never ridden before. We have only one additional mount, as we didn't anticipate Mr. Dempsey's arrival. Both of you can share her, if you like. She's a sturdy girl."

  Mounting a horse turned out to be more difficult than Shelby had imagined. Though she had grown, the Clydesdale still towered over her. She managed to put her left foot in the stirrup, but couldn't quite pull herself over. Barrick offered his hand, and she used it as a step to mount. Once in the saddle, Shelby fought retreating to the ground, uncomfortable with the way Lenore swayed beneath her.

  "Use the reins to direct her. Just the slightest tug will tell her which way to go. She'll follow us without any direction, though." Barrick smiled up at her.

  She nodded. "Thanks."

  Mr. Dempsey mounted behind her with Barrick's help. He seemed more at home on the enormous horse than she.

  Sculptor put out the fire by emptying a bucket over the flames and kicking dirt onto the ashes. Once the pit was smoking white, he said, "We should go. Malefic's men may soon find our camp."

  Barrick and Sculptor mounted their steeds with the elegance of practice. With a soft boot to the flanks, their horses were off at a steady pace. Shelby thought she should kick Lenore, too, but the mare started without the slightest nudge. Not used to the rocking of being on horseback, she clutched the reins to keep from falling.

  A quick motion caught her eye. Shelby glanced down at a bizarre, bright green squirrel scurrying by, and a shiver ran up her spine.

  She was glad Mr. Dempsey was with her. This place was certainly not home.

  How terrifying, thought Riley as she fidgeted with the hem of her leather skirt. Campfires guttered nearby, and a canvas tent perched at her back. Mulch, dusty horses, metal, and burnt food scented the air while swords and axes clanged, sounding just like the instant message that had popped on her
computer a few hours prior.

  Three others huddled beside her, a girl and two boys. Riley managed to coerce the fellows to give their names—Stuart and Max—but the girl refused to speak. She was pale, with long sandy hair resting on her skinny frame—the type of person Riley tried to befriend back home, but never succeeded in doing.

  "Where do you think we are?" asked Max.

  Riley's gaze slid to him. With a bold jaw and short brown hair, he reminded her of a boy she had a crush on at school.

  Stuart lifted and lowered one shoulder. "England. Or a Renaissance Fair, maybe."

  Riley shook her head. "No, we're not on Earth, I'm sure of it. Look at how we changed."

  The noises and odors, though familiar, unnerved her, almost like something she experienced in a dream once. At the age of five, Riley had suffered a nightmare about a man, pale with wiry red hair, which still haunted her. He'd smelled just like this place.

  Max opened his mouth to speak, but clamped it shut as a figure, garbed in silver armor and navy enamel, approached with an air of gazing sympathy. He stood tall with a calm face, his long dark hair peppered with gray. A blue cape fluttered from his shoulders, secured by enormous medallions with lion heads on them, and a sword hung belted at his hip. Despite her uneasiness, Riley spied kindness in his green eyes.

  "Hello, I am Presage, a mentor here in the country of Meridia."

  Riley examined him, her brow puckering, while Stuart gazed off to the side, distracted by another discussion a campfire away.

  All around them, the clamor of the camp persisted as warriors used whetstones to sharpen their weapons, horses whickered and neighed, pots clanged, and the aroma of cooking food roamed the air.

  Presage set his gaze on one of the boys in the group. "Max Tuttle, correct?"

  Max's athletic build tensed and he locked eyes with Presage, fire blazing in his pupils.

  Riley bit her lip and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. I hope he doesn't try to hurt this Presage guy. He seems pleasant enough.

  Presage continued, "Riley Upchurch?"