The Scroll 27

Whoopee! Two days in a row! We're coming closer to the end here, ladies and gentlemen. In this episode, Leslie and Gray finally find Professor Brown.

* * *

Over the next week Leslie and Gray spent their lunch breaks huddled over their table, calling Browns from pages Leslie tore out of the phone book. It took a lot longer than Leslie thought it would. Lots of the Browns didn’t answer, and Leslie marked them with a star so she’d remember to try them again.

“Why don’t we call them after school at home?” Gray asked.

Leslie shook her head. “I don’t want to risk Savannah or Dad coming in while we’re making phone calls. Plus, our hour before they get home is already filled.”

Since there wasn’t much Leslie could do against larger shifters, Gray focused her training each afternoon on speed. They jogged to the beach, and once there Gray assigned Leslie to sprint, pivot, and maneuver at top speed through obstacle courses he set up. It took a lot more out of Leslie than she thought it would. She was used to jogging at moderate speeds, but sprinting for any sort of distance was foreign to her.

On Friday in P.E. the coach stood in front of the class. He waved a handful of strips of papers at the students. “Who here thinks they’re up for joining the cross country team?” asked Coach. None of the students answered. “Our annual cross country training camp is coming up in two weeks from today, and if any of you kids want to go and prove your worth, you’ll need these permission slips. The cost of the camp is twenty-five bucks, which isn’t too shabby considering the fact that it’s an overnighter and we’ve got to provide rooms, food, and transportation for you. So if any of you want to go, come pick up this form at the end of class.”

As they left P.E., Leslie picked up two permission slips. She handed one to Gray.

“We’re going to the camp?” Gray asked.

“No,” said Leslie. “But hopefully we’ll contact Professor Brown soon, and when we do I want us to say when and where we’re meeting. If my dad signs these permission slips, he won’t worry if we’re out late.”

“But it’s an overnighter,” Gray pointed out. “What if it doesn’t take all night?”

“We’ll sneak back into the house and stay quiet until we’re supposed to come home,” said Leslie.

When they got home, Leslie handed the permission slips to Mr. Matheson the first chance she could. “Can we go?” she asked.

Mr. Matheson looked at the permission slips. “You want to join cross country?”

Leslie nodded and bit her lip.

“It’s been two years, hasn’t it?” Mr. Matheson smiled and put a hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Leslie. It must have been hard to stop cross country after your mother died, but it must be harder to join again.”

Leslie smiled, but she felt sick inside. Why did Dad have to say that? It was harder to lie to him when he was proud of her. “I’ve been training,” she said softly.

Mr. Matheson’s smile broadened, and he whipped out a pen and immediately signed the two permission slips. He handed them to Gray and Leslie, hugging Leslie tight as he did so. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take care of it.”

Leslie’s stomach tightened even more.

Throughout the next week, Leslie continued to call Browns and train, but she did so half-heartedly. The permission slips and money sat in Leslie’s backpack, burning a hole in her conscience. She sat down at the lunch table with a sigh.

“What’s wrong?” asked Gray. He set his tray of food on the table and sat down.

“Everything,” Leslie said, looking around. Teens milled around the lunchroom, ignoring Leslie and Gray as they gossiped about sports, fashion, music, and other normal things teenagers usually had to deal with. “I hate lying to my dad.”

“We don’t have a choice,” said Gray. “You yourself said he wouldn’t understand. And we’re running out of time.”

A girl walking by laughed shrilly, and Gray winced and covered his ears. Leslie stared at him forlornly. He was right. Even though he changed into a panther every day, ran, ate right, and did everything he could to remain healthy, the disease was taking its toll. Just yesterday Gray had collapsed during their jog, writhing in pain. And today his senses were too sharp. “Okay,” she said finally. “Let’s keep calling.”

The third Brown Leslie tried picked up the phone. “Hello?” a man said. He sounded old and reminded Leslie of talking on the phone with her grandfather.

“Hi,” Leslie said. She hesitated. The next part was always the hardest to say. “My name’s Leslie. You don’t know me, and I’m not even sure you’re the right Mr. Brown. I’m not selling anything, and I’m not trying to get you to take a survey or anything like that. Could please have a moment of your time?”

“Sure,” the old man said. “What is it you need?”

Leslie relaxed. She’d been hung up on or yelled at so many times, it was a relief to find a willing listener. “Sir,” she said, “over the past several weeks I’ve been trying to contact a man known as Professor Brown. Are you a professor?”

“I am a retired professor, yes,” said the man.

A thrill went through Leslie. This was the first time anyone had answered yes to that question. “Do you—do you know anything about a place called the Other Side?”

“Do you mean Heaven and Hell?”

“No,” said Leslie. She shook her head, a gut reaction even though the man couldn’t see her. “I mean another world. Like this one, but different, where people can, well, change into…”

“Where people can change into animals?” asked Professor Brown. “Yes, I know about the shifters’ world.”

Leslie nearly jumped out of her seat. She waved a hand in front of Gray’s face until he looked at her. She flashed a smile and gave a thumbs up before continuing, “There’s a boy with me who needs your help. He’s sitting right here.”

“Let me speak to him,” said the professor.

Leslie covered the speaker of the phone and whispered excitedly, “It’s him. It’s really him. He wants to speak to you.”

Gray held out his hand, and Leslie handed him the phone. He held it tentatively to his ear. Throughout all the time he’d been with Leslie, he’d never used a phone. “Um, hello?”

Leslie could hear some muffled speaking, and Gray winced and held the phone away from his ear. “Yes, sir,” said Gray. “My name is Gray, the son of Azure. I’m from Westwood in the province of the Giants.” Pause. “My father sent me to seek your help concerning a plague that has struck our village. This world’s medical knowledge is greater than ours, and he believes you can help us find a cure.” Another pause. “Yes. The details are in a scroll I have in my possession.” Pause. “I understand. We’d like to name a time and place to meet. Leslie has the particulars.”

Gray handed the phone back to Leslie. “I hear you want to name the time and place we’ll meet?” asked Professor Brown.

“Yes,” said Leslie, “if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s fine,” said the professor. “I understand why you feel so cautious, what with this being so strange and all.”

Leslie gave a small laugh. He didn’t know the half of it. “Okay. Do you know where the Stanford Shopping Center in Palo Alto is?”

“Of course.”

"And do you know where Jamba Juice is?"

“I'm sure I can find it on a map.”

“Meet us in the food court in front of Jamba Juice at seven-thirty pm next Friday.”

“Friday?” Professor Brown interrupted. “Why not sooner? This sounds urgent.”

“No,” Leslie said sharply. She calmed down and continued, “It has to be next Friday at seven-thirty. I’ll be wearing a pink bandana and Gray,” Leslie paused and looked at Gray. “Well, Gray will probably be wearing a long-sleeved dark colored shirt under a t-shirt. How will we recognize you?”

“Oh, just look for the old man with a cane standing in front of Jamba Juice,” said Professor Brown with a chuckle in his voice. “I look forward to meeting you, Leslie.”

“You too,” said Leslie. She hung up.

Gray grinned. “Friday?”

“Yes,” answered Leslie. Relief flooded her body, and she allowed herself to smile. “Friday.”

The Scroll 26

Two posts in one day! How lucky is that? Here is the next section of "The Scroll." I'm feeling like I'm on a roll here. My goal is to make a new post every couple of days. Enjoy this new segment! (and if you haven't read the other post from today titled "Erwynion," do it! I'd love your feedback on what you think)

* * *

“I want you to teach me to fight,” said Leslie as she and Gray walked home from school. It was the first day of their grounding, but Savannah and Mr. Matheson wouldn’t be home for another hour.

“Why do you need to know how to fight?” Gray asked. He adjusted the strap on his backpack.

Leslie glanced around. A sparrow flitted across the street and landed in a tree, disappearing from sight. Was it a shifter? She couldn’t trust anything anymore. Leslie hugged herself, though the afternoon sun was warm. “I feel so helpless—I can’t do anything well except run. And I—I don’t want to be helpless. I don’t want to put Savannah in danger ever again, and unless I learn how to fight she’ll keep tagging along pretending she’ll protect me.”

“You think someone is going to attack again?” asked Gray. He stared at her with his gold-flecked eyes. The eyelids were still rimmed with black, even though Gray woke up early that morning to spend time as a panther. Apparently, nothing could completely reverse the effects of his disease.

A breeze swept over them, bringing with it the smell of the sea. Leslie’s hair danced in front of her face, and she pushed it behind her ear. “How do I know we won’t be attacked? Ever since you came here with your scroll, nothing’s made sense. I mean, why would anybody want your scroll?”

Gray fiddled with his fingers, and Leslie knew that if the scroll hadn’t been in his backpack he’d be weighing it in his hands. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve thought about opening the scroll and reading it, but my father trusted me not to do that. I do know that my people are sick—that I am sick—and that my father believes only Professor Brown has the answers that will save us. Do you believe me?”

Leslie bit her lip. She didn’t know what to believe. All she wanted to do was run—run until she dropped from exhaustion—leaving everything strange that had to her, shifters, scrolls, behind. But that wasn’t an option. She nodded. “I believe you. Now, will you teach me how to fight?”

“What makes you think I have anything to teach?” asked Gray. “I don’t know how to fight, not with my hands at least.”

Leslie snorted. “I saw what you did in Chemistry. Don’t tell me you don’t know anything.”

“Well,” said Gray hesitantly, “I did get into some fist fights over, um…”

“Yes?” Leslie prodded. When Gray didn’t answer, she poked him in the side. “Tell.”

“It was over a girl,” said Gray, blushing furiously. “The other guys teased me when they learned I had a crush on her.”

“And did you?” asked Leslie.

Gray’s face reddened even more. “Yes, but, well, that’s not the point.”

“Hmm,” said Leslie. She crossed her arms. “And do you still have a crush on this girl?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“No,” said Gray, a little too quickly. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. She’s been gone a long time now.”

“Uh huh,” said Leslie. She relaxed a little and poked Gray in the side again.

Jumping, Gray yelped, “Ow! What was that for?”

“Nothing.” Leslie smirked. “So are you going to teach me to fight or not?”

“I’ll teach you what I can, though I’m not sure how much it will help.” They arrived at the Mathesons’ house. Gray held the door open for Leslie as they walked inside.

“Why not?” asked Leslie.

Gray set his backpack down next to the door. “You’ll be going against shifters, and you can’t shift.”

“So let’s come up with ways to counter shifters’ attacks,” said Leslie. “No big deal.”

Leslie got out a pencil and a notebook and led the way to the kitchen table. “Let’s make a list of the types of animals we’ve come across, then we’ll think of a way to fight them off.”

“Okay,” said Gray. He sat next to her.

After sharpening the pencil, Leslie nibbled at the end. “I know there was a falcon.” She wrote it on the paper.

“The most dangerous things about birds of prey are their beaks and talons,” said Gray. “You’ll want to protect yourself against those, maybe with a blanket or jacket. You can wrap it around your arm and block their attacks.”

Leslie wrote wear a jacket next to falcon. “All right. What about an elephant?”

“Don’t get crushed.”

“A stag?”

“Don’t get in the way of its antlers.”

“A gorilla?”

“Don’t get caught.”

“Is there anything I can do besides run away?” Leslie muttered.

Gray chuckled. “Humans are pretty weak creatures, to be honest. Why do you think I prefer fighting in my panther form?”

Leslie scowled. She tapped the end of the pencil against the table top. She remembered seeing a fox the other night. “What about foxes? Can I do anything to fight them?”

Gray grinned. “Foxes? Those you can kick.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Leslie closed her notebook and went to the door, with Gray following behind her. She opened the door.

The social worker Angela Castillo stood outside. She smiled, but the smile looked strained. “Hello Leslie, Gray. I’ve just stopped by to check on you. Is your father home?”

“No,” said Leslie, her hand still on the doorknob. “He’s still at work.”

“Oh,” said Angela. She didn’t look disappointed. If anything, she looked relieved. “May I come in?”

“Sure…” said Leslie hesitantly. Angela pushed past her and sat on a chair in the living room. She placed a briefcase she was holding on the floor. Leslie and Gray sat down on the couch. Both of them put their hands on their laps.

“And what have you two been up to?” asked Angela. She flashed a too-cheery smile.

“Not much. Just school and stuff,” said Leslie. Her whole body tensed. Something didn’t feel right. Why was Angela Castillo here? Was it really just a standard follow-up?

“That’s good,” said Angela, nodding. “And how are you liking school, Gray?”

“I’d like it better if I could read this place’s script,” Gray answered truthfully.

“He’s being pulled for remedial lessons,” Leslie supplied.

“And how does that make you feel?” asked Angela.

“Like I’m underclass,” said Gray. “The tutors talk to me as though I have the mental capacity of a seven-year-old. They smile too much, and they assume I can’t read at all, simply because there are so many obnoxious reading rules in your script.”

Angela frowned a little. “That does sound frustrating. And is there anything else going on?”

“What do you mean?” asked Gray.

Angela’s mask of serenity began to slip. She said hesitantly, “Has anything, well, strange happened? Have you gotten into any fights or been…contacted…by anyone? Because, well, if anyone contacts you and wants you to do something dangerous, something that could hurt you or others, you know not to do it, right? Nothing…dangerous…has happened to you, has it?”

“No…” said Gray. His hands slowly curled into fists.

“We’re doing fine, Ms. Castillo,” Leslie said. She flashed a quick smile. “Really, nothing’s wrong. We slipped out to go to a beach party a couple nights back, but that’s it.”

Angela Castillo smiled, but Leslie could tell she was still worried about something. “Well, that’s good,” she said. She picked up her briefcase and stood. “Thank you for your time. Gray, feel free to contact me if you need anything.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Ms. Castillo,” said Gray. He stood and opened the door for her. Angela Castillo shot one more fake smile at Leslie and Gray before getting in her car and driving away.

“Do you think she knows anything?” asked Leslie.

“I have no idea,” said Gray.

Erwynion excerpt

Hello! Yes, I know this isn't the next part of The Scroll, but this is an idea that's been brewing in my head for a while now. Some of you know that "The World Walker Chronicles," of which "The Scroll" is the first book, is not the first idea I ever had for a book. I have another series I'm working on called "The Defenders of Light." (For those of you who are wondering, no, I haven't published any Defenders books--yet) In the books there are two main countries, Valoris and Elwenarien, an ocean to the west, and mountains to the east. As I was brainstorming for the series, I decided that one character would decide to flee to the mountains and beyond so that he could be left alone and be himself. Later--much later-- in the series, he'd come back all grown up with a family. So, I thought to myself, what's beyond those mountains? I've been brainstorming what he'd do in the twenty-odd years after leaving (yes, I know, terrible of me since I haven't even published the first book yet), and I've been coming up with some pretty crazy ideas. So, here's what would most likely become a prologue for that book series:

Erwynion

I live in a land surrounded by mountains. Two hundred years ago, my ancestors braved the unforgiving peaks and traveled west to escape the rule of a brutal tyrant. They settled this land, protected by mountains on all sides, and began to build a thriving civilization which they called Erwynion.

Then they came. They called themselves the Dragon Keepers, men and women who rode fearsome beasts that flew through the air and spat out fire, and whose minds were as cunning as their riders'. At first they were harbingers of peace, promising protection from any enemies that could find their way through the maze of mountain passes. My ancestors welcomed the Dragon Keepers and secretly worshiped them. And who wouldn't worship such powerful beings that flew through the air as easily as the gods?

Gradually, the Dragon Keepers changed. They began to demand taxes and tributes, though they did not claim kingship over us in words. We could not refuse--any village or city that did not meet the tax quote was burned to the ground. Gradually our land, once lush and green, became barren and drained.

My grandfather's father was a small boy at the time. As a little girl I loved sitting at his knee, listening as he told how the Dragon Keepers flew overhead, their dragons' scales glistening in the sunlight. True, they were the villains of the story, but they were still majestic, beautiful, and stories of them filled my heart with wonder.

Then something happened. Civil war broke out among the Dragon Keepers, and instead of thinking of taxes they began to fight amongst themselves. Erwynion became their battleground, and whole swaths of land were left ravaged and scarred. Eventually, the Dragon Keepers disappeared. Nothing was left of them except haunted ruins in the mountains inhabited by feral dragons with weak scales and weaker minds.

Slowly, the land began to replenish itself, and great scars started to be replaced by greenery and life. The people of Erwynion also began to lift themselves out of the mud and devastation. They'd had enough of kings and tyrants. It was better for the people to choose their own rulers than to have rulers forced upon them, they decided. They set up a government in which men and women were elected to serve the people. It looked as though prosperity was in our grasp.

Alas, it was not to be. Some of the elected officials began to fear that they would lose their power. One man was crowned king and demanded that everyone serve him. Others rebelled, declaring themselves kings and queens.

War broke out, with kings and queens fighting against elected officials who fought for the freedom of the people. My grandfather's father was one who was elected as a governor of our land. As the war progressed and the power of the people began to fall, he surrendered. He felt it was better to survive to preserve the true history of our people, even in whispers and secret meetings, than to die to leave his wife and young son destitute without a husband and father.

The war continues to this day, though it is a political battle rather than a battle of lives. Each city and its surrounding villages are ruled by a king, and each king desires to become High King over all of Erwynion. We have fled from evil only to find greater evil, and we are all ruled by tyrants.

My family lives in a village at the foot of the western mountains, those which we call the Avalades. Our village is ruled by a man who calls himself king and his idiot son. I often look up at the Avalades, from whence the Dragon Keepers came, and I wonder what lies beyond them. I've been told all my life that only Death comes from the mountains, but I believe there are things far worse than Death.

The Scroll 25

This post is a little out of order. I meant to have this take place just after Leslie, Gray, and Savannah come home after their adventure near Devil's Slide. (You know, the one where tons of animals come racing after them out of the fog. Yeah, I know it's been a long time since I've written that scene. I'm sorry. I'll do better at keeping my posts close together in the future) I kept meaning to write it and meaning to write it, but as it doesn't follow Leslie, Gray, and Savannah's story, but is rather from Angela Castillo's point of view, it got put on the back burner. So here it is, and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Angela knocked frantically on Brett’s door. She waited impatiently, and raised her hand to knock again when the door opened. Brett yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“What is it?” asked Brett. He checked his watch. “It’s two in the morning.”

Fumbling in her purse, Angela pushed past Brett. “Something’s happened. Something big.”

“Two o’clock in the morning big?” said Brett, ruffling his hand through his short red hair.

“Just pull up your computer,” said Angela. She upended her purse on Brett’s coffee table and pawed through its contents.

Brett stared at Angela, blinking back sleep. Finally, he shook his head. “Okay, but only because you’re my favorite Latin girl.”

Angela rolled her eyes. She let out a small cry of joy as she picked a flash drive out of the pile. She handed it to Brett.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You need to see,” said Angela. He plugged the flash drive into his computer. “Open the file called ‘Weird bad stuff.’”

“Weird bad stuff, huh?” said Brett. “Not very creative.”

Angela continued, “I went back to that chat room after we overheard them talk about that war.”

“I’m not sure overheard is the right word,” said Brett. He clicked on the icon to open Angela’s flash drive.

“There were some pretty heated arguments going on at about midnight. I took some screenshots—I think I got all of it,” said Angela. She leaned on the back of Brett’s chair and stared intensely at the computer screen.

Brett looked at Angela and grinned. “You took screenshots? Aww, my little Angela’s starting to become computer literate. I’m so proud.”

Angela tweaked his ear. “Just get that file open. I need to know what you think.”

With two clicks of the mouse, Brett opened the file. They leaned forward to read the conversation.

Ember: You shouldn’t have gotten involved.

8asnayke: Oh yeah, like you’ve got all power on this side.

Ember: I am a protector of the worlds.

8asnayke: The power in the scroll should be given to all of us.

8asnayke: self-elected protector.

Ember: and I intend to keep thugs like you from endangering them.

8asnayke: name calling now? And what would you do with the scroll?

Ember: Destroy it.

8asnayke: And you have the right to decide that? but it’s a moot point now. The brats got away.

Ember: If you hadn’t brought your men, we could have gotten it.

8asnayke: I was just trying to do what was best for our kind.

Ember: As was I.

8asnayke: Then why were you attacking us?

Ember: I don’t trust you, I don’t trust what you’d do with the power. And because you were there, we suffered casualties.

8asnayke: Don’t blame me for that. That was all the Gray kid.

Ember: And you saw what happened to him. Is that the power of the scroll? Is that what you want?

8asnayke: There was no mention of a curse. There is no curse. Gray is sick.

8asnayke: I will have that scroll.

Ember: I swear on my life I’ll get it first.

8asnayke: I’ll hold you to that.

“Well?” asked Angela after Brett finished reading. “What do you think?”

Brett leaned back in his seat. “It’s some sort of elaborate online roll-playing game?” He flashed an uneasy smile at her.

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” said Angela. She started pacing back and forth.

“No,” Brett protested. “It’s just…I mean, look at what they say—power of the scroll, a curse.”

“Maybe those are code words,” said Angela. “I think we should contact the FBI, get ahold of Agent Blue and Agent Orange. Something’s going on, and Gray’s right in the middle of it.”

“You haven’t gotten any sleep tonight, have you?” said Brett. His fingertips tapped lightly on the keyboard.

Angela shook her head sharply. “No, I couldn’t sleep. Not after seeing that chat with plans for a war. Well? Don’t you think we should contact Agents Blue and Orange?”

Brett tapped the keys lightly once more before responding, “Agent Orange and Agent Blue aren’t in the FBI.”

Angela stopped pacing. She stared at Brett. “What?”

“They’re not FBI agents—and Orange and Blue aren’t FBI agent codenames,” said Brett. “I hacked into their computer files myself.”

“You what?” asked Angela. Her legs suddenly felt very weak. They were going to jail. If they were found out, she and Brett were going to jail. “You hacked into FBI files?”

“Yeah,” said Brett nonchalantly. He swiveled around in his chair. “I do it all the time. They know, too. I leave them little memos, let them know where their security’s weak. I’ve even sent fake emails to different people, from different people, to make them think they like each other. You wouldn’t believe how many couples I’ve gotten together at the Bureau doing that. I’m a regular little matchmaker.”

“You hacked into their files…” said Angela, not hearing whatever else Brett was saying. The world had stopped spinning, or time had stopped. Whatever it was, she was sure they were going to jail.

“Yup,” said Brett. He leaned back in his chair once more. “But the point is they’re not FBI agents. They’re agents of some kind—yes, I know I said they weren’t listed as agents, but I meant FBI agents. I think they’re consultants, maybe part of a special team. I was going to surprise you and tell you once I knew who they were, but, well, that ship’s kind of sunk.”

“You hacked into their files…” repeated Angela.

“Yes, I did.” Brett stood and gently put his hands on Angela’s shoulders. “And, judging from your extremely vacant expression, I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“Okay…” Angela let Brett lead her to the door. She said distractedly, “Let me know if you find anything else.”

“That I will,” Brett reassured her. He gently pushed her outside and closed the door behind her.

Angela had driven over halfway home when she realized Brett had said something important, but she couldn’t remember what.