“I see,” said Alfred pinching his nose again. “Well, you leave me no choice then, but to send you home.”
I took a deep sigh of relief. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ I thought.
“I will have a buggy come at once to get you,” he said. “Is it a long journey that you’ll be needing food?”
“Food is always a good idea!” said Justin.
“Oh yes, food would be quite nice,” said Emily with a smile.
“Guys, I don’t think we can get there by buggy,” I said.
“You need a boat?” he asked. “Hmm, I will have to send a telegram in hopes that a ship is due to set sail soon. Where will you be traveling to?”
“Well that’s the problem,” I said. “We need to get to Lockhart.”
“Lockhart? I don’t understand,” he said.
“I know, it doesn’t make sense, but I think we’re from the Lockhart of the future, or at least we seem to be in the Lockhart of our past, but who knows? Maybe it’s a different Lockhart all together.”
“It all got messed up in the cellar when we found that old book,” interjected Emily. “Next thing we knew, we were waking up in a field.”
“Book?” said Alfred.
“Yeah, it was called Myth or something,” said Justin.
“Oh dear,” he sighed.
“What?” I asked.
“Yes, it all makes sense now,” he continued.
“It does?” asked Emily. “Does this mean you can get us home?”
“Oh, it’s a little more complicated than that,” he said. “It’s all my fault really, for forgetting to close the rift.”
“The what?” I asked.
“The written rift, I’m afraid.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, let me see... where do I begin?” he sighed, searching for words. Eventually they came to him. “Back in your world, Henry was an explorer who travelled the world in search of rare treasures for wealthy clients who would pay outrageous prices for specific items. Chronicling his own adventures, he had no idea that the stories he wrote would also become of high value to his clients. In the end, they were willing to pay just about anything for one of Henry’s originals telling of his encounters with ancient civilizations that had not been seen since the dawn of the written word and with species that no one knew existed.”
“What kind of species?” asked Emily.
“Elves, faeries, giants,” he said.
“In our world?” I asked.
“Yes, he had encountered them all, and made a fair bit of wealth recording his adventures and importing artifacts to his growing clientele. Unfortunately, it was not without consequence.”
“Why? What happened?”
“There was a reason why those species were rarely ever seen and were at serious risk of extinction.”
“Why?”
“They were far more fragile than humans, unable to survive amidst the spreading pollution from the manufacturing companies. Large factories were popping up all over the globe, filling orders for companies bent on quick profits regardless of the scars they left on rain forests and oceans. They were raping the earth’s natural resources while staining the earth with spill off and waste to sustain an unrealistic economy of consumerism.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head in confusion.
He paused, searching again for an explanation that might make sense. “You see, er, rather than building an item that would last for the life of the owner, they saw the potential profit of manufacturing products with a short and pre-determined shelf life. This way the companies would benefit by selling consumers four items instead of just one. It didn’t matter that the resources consumed and pollution generated also quadrupled, and left many species struggling to survive.
Of course, Henry lobbied to stop the large companies, urging them to consider the ecological impact of destroying so much habitat. But with huge profits at stake, the companies and their shareholders were resistant and it didn’t take long for a certain group of them to become bent on silencing Henry. They twisted the truth and turned it against him, claiming his encounters with elves and faeries to be mere fiction. ‘His books are faery tales, nothing more than a deceptive myth!’ they claimed, and it wasn’t long before the zealous group convinced many that he had filled his books with deceitful lies for profit.
They accused him of the very thing they were doing - deceiving the people in the interest of profit. A petition signed by a hundred and fifteen men and women; including four CEO’s, twenty-three executives officers, and eighty-eight shareholders was delivered to Henry in the form of a letter. They requested that Henry make a formal public statement to declare his stories to be a sham, and demanded all his writings to be designated as fiction or destroyed. An inscription at the bottom of the letter read, ‘You want a fight, so here it is.’ Of course Henry thought their request was ridiculous, but it was only a few days later when the authorities showed up at Henry’s door, unannounced, with a subpoena for Henry to attend a court hearing. Apparently the letter was not a hoax, and those men and women were serious about stopping Henry from campaigning against them by distracting him with a war of their own. Four of the large manufacturing companies they represented had filed a lawsuit against him. The police were also given authority by order of the judge to search and seize all books that could be deemed important evidence to their case. The police spent most of the day combing through our home, taking many of the books in Henry’s library.”
“Did they win the case?” I asked.
“The court case never transpired,” he sighed.
“Why? What happened?”
“One week before the hearing, a fire broke out in the evidence warehouse and all the books were destroyed, along with other evidence.”
“Do you think it was done on purpose?” asked Emily.
“We knew it, though nothing was ever proven, however the companies no longer had a case and they withdrew their lawsuit against Henry. It seems they had already won.”
“So what did Henry do?” asked Justin.
“He became ill,” sighed Alfred. “It was as though his life had been burned up along with everything they destroyed.”
“Why didn’t he just write another book?”
“He did,” said Alfred. “He began writing that book you found in the cellar. It was a cocky and adventurous response on Henry’s part. Knowing he couldn’t save the dying species he had befriended through his adventures, it became his dying passion to write one last book that would keep their memory alive.”
“But how did he stop the companies from destroying that book as well?” asked Emily.
“By disguising the book as a Myth, he figured they’d leave it well alone, and you three are living testimony that they did just that! Unfortunately, death does not wait for man’s desires and we soon learned that Henry’s illness was worse than expected. He was dying. Knowing he needed more time to finish the book, we worked together towards a means for him to continue writing, long past death’s door.”
“How?”
“We used what little he had written of the Myth as a primer of words that rolled open and created a new world, beyond the grave. A world known as Evoluii, where Henry could continue to write and remember all those forgotten.”
“So you’re saying that he wrote this world you call Evoluii into existence?”
“Precisely!”
“And when we found his so called primer - the Myth - back in the cellar, it brought us here to this world he created?” I asked.
“Yes, however it wasn’t simply finding the book that brought you here, it was the act of reading it. The Myth was intended as a gateway that only Henry would enter, as I was supposed to close the rift between that world and this, by writing the words ‘The End’ in the book, once Henry had made it in. However, fate ha
s a purpose regardless of our intent and I’m afraid in that world I forgot a lot of things and I never did close the rift. Alas, here I am and here you are!”
“So you and Henry are from our world too then?” asked Emily.
“Yes,” said Alfred. “Although, I can see by your attire, we are not from the same era.”
“But how could Henry continue to write the Myth that was back in our world if he was here in Evoluii?”
“Ah, because here in Evoluii he wrote in another book - a book that was connected to the Myth back home in your world.
“Another Myth?” asked Emily.
“No,” Alfred shook his head. “Here the book is called the Troth, because the truth no longer has to be hidden.”
“The Troth? - isn’t that the book that Prospexi and her Father were talking about?” I looked at Emily and Justin. “You know, the book that’s supposed to have everything written in it - the past and the future?”
“Yeah, so how does he do that?” asked Emily.
“Because the stories within the Troth and Myth are more than just written and read, they are lived.”
“This is deep,” said Justin.
“So where is our home in all of this?” I asked.
“Your home is still there I trust, along with the Lockhart you know better. Only words apart really, it moves along with us, at a slower pace, mind you. It takes so long for anything to happen there it seems. Come see,” Alfred held out his pocket watch for us to see. It had five hands instead of three, just like the clock we’d seen back in the study at the school. “These hands here are the hours, minutes and seconds in your world.”
“They aren’t moving,” I noticed.
“Actually, they are,” he said. “But very slowly. If we wait several hours you will see that the second hand has moved.”
“So is that why my watch is running so slow?” Justin looked at his watch.
“Yes Justin, you’re following this well enough,” Alfred gave him a firm pat on the back.
“So are you saying...” Justin looked at the time displayed on his watch. “... that back home only a little over an hour has passed since we left?”
“Well let’s see, an hour back in your world is the same as a moon here. So if you’ve been here less than moons, home would still be enjoying the same day.”
“I’m so confused,” said Emily.
“If only an hour has passed, then there’s no rush to get home,” said Justin. “Heck, our parents might not even know we’re missing.”
“No rush!” I exclaimed. “How can you not be in a rush to get home?”
“I’m just saying they probably don’t even miss us yet,” sighed Justin.
“Has anyone gone back before?” I looked at Alfred.
“Hmm,” Alfred pinched his nose again, as he seemed to do a lot when he was thinking. “I am not aware of anyone traveling that way through the words before, but...” he paused. “If there IS a way, there is one person who would know.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “The Maker?”
He smiled. “Now you’re with me!”
—
Alfred put together a tasty lunch of salami sandwiches and hard boiled eggs. Stuffing the last slice of salami into my mouth I mumbled, “So when did he disappear?”
“It was a sunny day in the second summer; the forty-two thousandth, eight hundred and third sun to be exact. The day of the great fire. I had spoken with him just that morning before he left to meet up with Lustro at Lily Palus.”
“Just like Prospexi showed us in the pictures at the temple,” said Justin.
“Yes, well no one can say for certain whether he met up with her or not, although there are witnesses that say they saw him in town that day, at the flower shop and deli.”
“Do you think Ludo killed him?” Justin blurted out.
We all looked at him.
“Just asking,” he said sheepishly.
“There are many thoughts and rumours as to what happened that day, and that is by far the most common one,” said Alfred. “But there are also people who swear he’s alive, saying they’ve seen him sneaking around town in a disguise. There are others who believe he is hiding out, waiting for the right moment to take back control of Evoluii. Tea anyone?” Alfred poured a dab of milk in four dainty little teacups. They were the kind of cups that grandparents used; with handles too small to stick a finger through so your pinky ended up dangling in the air.
“Henry always told me the milk is to be poured first if you are to have a proper English tea. Perhaps it’s the chemistry of cold milk slightly warmed at the bottom of the empty cup prior to mingling with the hot tea.” He took the handle of a matching teapot and poured piping hot liquid into each little cup. “Rather, I’ve always felt that being proper relies on the amount of sugar one adds,” he chuckled, plopping four white cubes into his own tea as he sat back down.
“So what do you think happened?” I asked.
“What I think is irrelevant, however soon after Henry’s disappearance, Ludo became Queen of Evoluii, having taken control of Henry’s kingdom by force. She has since gained many followers.”
“Why would anyone follow her?” asked Emily.
“She has deceived many, promising things they think they need and twisting it all for her benefit. It only takes a few, and soon others are questioning if they too should join her. But most have followed simply out of fear that they have no other choice.”
“And no one has been able to stop her?” asked Justin.
“Some have tried, though unsuccessfully. Frankly, most are too afraid. Ludo had always been a handful - strong and stubborn, which is not all that bad in itself, but as time went on her obstinate enthusiasm evolved into a will of defiance. With Henry here, Ludo seemed to keep her deviant desires under control. Perhaps it was her knowledge that Henry could write out her existence with a single stroke of his pen, but somehow I think she grew to doubt that he ever would. Now, with Henry seemingly gone, her arrogance has escalated and our world has become fearfully fragile. It appears there is no one able to stop her evil resolve. It is why you must go and find out what happened to him. It is written that you are there on that day and it is your destiny.”
It was hard for me to believe something that seemed so foreign could hold any destiny for us. Especially when all we really wanted was to get back home. “Are you sure Henry can get us back?” I asked.
“No, I’m afraid I’m not sure, but I do know that if anyone can, it’s him.” Alfred sipped the last drop from his cup in a much louder slurping manner, entirely inconsistent with the daintiness of the cup and his talk of being proper. “Good to the bitter end!” he winked and rose from his chair. “Shall we?”
I looked at Justin who simply shrugged his shoulders, and Emily who appeared lost in it all, with her delicate doe eyes staring blankly ahead. It seemed we had no choice, but to go and find the Maker. I nodded to Alfred.
“Don’t mind the dishes,” he said. “Ethal will be here shortly to help me with them.”
With our tummies filled, we followed Alfred back into his laboratory to set off on an adventure of unknown length or outcome.
“Right then, as I’ve said before:
For every thousand twist it right,
left a notch for every night,
twist left for every hundred spent,
the word should find the right moment,
the sand will shift and change the day,
then let the wind’s eye take you away.”
“Wait!” stopped Emily, “I thought it was right a notch for every night?”
“Oh, yes, I think you are right, or is it left?” Alfred blushed realizing he messed up the sequence. “It must be the sugar. It makes me rather forgetful and giddy,” he giggled and pinched his nose. “Hmm, I should have thought of a better rhyme to remem
ber. It gets so confusing with left and right and right and left. I think having had a more simplistic method would have been advantageous, although being too simple one would not allow the precision that one would need to...”
“Alfred!” I said sharply. “What would happen if we twisted or turned it the wrong way?”
“Oh dear, why you could end up in a completely different sun. Theoretically, you could end up somewhere in the future where things are yet to be fully written, or you might only travel one sun from today, or dare I think so long ago that this world did not exist but in the mind of Henry. Alright then,” he sighed and looked up at us. “Are you ready to go?”
“I hope so,” muttered Emily, who didn’t look ready at all, and took a step behind Justin and I.
Was he joking? He didn’t seem to be, and the thought terrified me. How could he be so nonchalant about sending us off to a random time and place, especially when he was so uncertain of the outcome?
“It’s important you remember the correct sequence,” he said. “You can’t be wrong in this matter.”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to end up inside the head of Henry!” laughed Justin.
I stood there speechless, as Alfred and Justin chuckled hopelessly together.
“Oh, that would not be good,” Alfred laughed, “Arriving to a blank page perhaps or a void before existence. Although,...” he stopped laughing and pinched his nose again, “one would have to be envious of someone who knows what pre-existence looks like.”
“Oh please!” I blurted out not wanting to hear one more unbearable thought of it. “Can we just get on with it?”
“Yes, yes, here we go then,” Alfred pulled out the small piece of folded paper and handed it to me. I opened it and read the hand-written words,
Myth Page 21
