Noooooooo!” cried Aidan, sitting bolt upright in his bed. He raised his arms, trying desperately to ward off an attack. But the attack was not there in his room. It was back in his dream, his nightmare. Aidan’s chest heaved. His bedclothes were drenched in cold sweat. Aidan shivered.
He looked down at the scrolls, the account of the Great Betrayal. He had seen it in his dreams, and it was horrible. Aidan tried to shake the vivid images from his mind, but they held on.
He’d done it. The, the—Aidan could not find a word severe enough to describe Paragor. He had taken the love of his King and kingdom, and their trust as well, and he had paid them back with treachery. Paragor’s face, once noble and proud, had become twisted with rage and hate. That face . . .
Aidan realized with horror that it was not the first time he had seen that face. The warrior from the recurring dream. It’s him! It’s Paragor!
Aidan felt a sharp pain in his chest, and he doubled over.
Aidan staggered to the hall bathroom and splashed icy water on his face. His heart pounded. But how did Paragor get into my dreams before I ever read the scrolls?
Aidan dried his face with a towel, looked up into the mirror, and reeled backward. In the reflection he saw himself surrounded by the desperate, haunted faces of the children from the fountain. They were so . . . so sad.
Deep in a doubt-shrouded corner of Aidan’s mind, an impossible thought stirred. But it was impossible, wasn’t it? Aidan looked back at the mirror, and the faces were gone.
Aidan stood at his bedroom door and stared at the third scroll bundle. It lay, still secured with its leather lace, waiting.
No, as much as he wanted to find out what became of the Elder Guard and the Kingdom of Alleble, Aidan needed a break. Aidan went down to the kitchen. Grampin was there, still asleep in his chair.
All he does is sleep, Aidan thought disdainfully. Aidan slipped around him and opened the pantry door. Mannnnn, the brownies are all gone! Aidan cast an accusative eye on his grandfather. Sure enough, there were brownie crumbs in his lap. Sleep—and eat, Aidan corrected himself.
Settling for option number two, he poured a bowl of dry cereal, grabbed a spoon, and turned around. For a split second, Aidan thought that Grampin’s eyes had been open. Aidan studied his grandfather suspiciously. His head was bent forward, chin resting on his chest. His hands were folded in his brownie-crumb lap, and his upper body inflated slowly with each sleepy breath. He sure looked like he was asleep. Aidan wondered.
Aidan set the empty bowl on his bedside table. Now he felt ready to open the third scroll. Aidan untied the lace, spread open the scroll, and stared.
He went back to the last few pages of the second scroll. He reread the horribly tragic balcony scene above Guard’s Keep, and then looked back at the first page of the third scroll.
It didn’t make sense. On the first page of the third scroll, there was what looked like a poem.
Aidan scowled. But what happened to the Elder Guard and the children? A cold feeling in the pit of Aidan’s stomach suggested that whatever happened in Alleble after Paragal murdered King Eliam, it was not good.
He looked down at the poem. The words, written in black ink, shimmered blue as Aidan turned the page at angles in the light. Aidan ran his fingers over several verses and discovered that the text was slightly raised and had its own texture. This text was meant to stand out, Aidan thought. And he began to read.
There are passages and doors
And realms that lie unseen.
There are roads both wide and narrow
And no avenue between.
Doors remain closed for those
Who in sad vanity yet hide.
Yet when belief is chosen,
The key appears inside.
What is lived now will soon pass,
And what is not will come to be.
The Door Within must open,
For one to truly see.
Though he had no idea what the poem meant, Aidan read it again and again. It was some sort of riddle—that much was clear. And Aidan had an odd suspicion that the riddle was meant for him to solve.
Eager for an explanation, Aidan moved aside the poem parchment. The next page, however, was blank.
Aidan scrunched up his eyebrows. The following page was blank as well. He hurriedly turned over each of the last five pages of the scroll, but they were all void of writing.
“AArrggh!” he growled, looking around his room for someone to explain this great injustice. It couldn’t just end there— with no mention of what became of the Elder Guard and no explanation of the mysterious poem. But there they were: seven blank pages.
Confused and more than a little annoyed, Aidan turned back to the page with the poem. Perhaps there were answers there. He read it through again, but froze on the last two lines.
The Door Within must open,
For one to truly see.
Do you see?
Aidan blinked. Gooseflesh rippled up his arms. There was a new line at the end of the poem! He was absolutely sure it hadn’t been there before!
A car door slammed, followed by another, and Aidan looked out his window. Both his parents were home. Dad’s early, Aidan thought. He looked back at the poem and swallowed, for there was another line.
Believe and enter.
