Aidan and his father stared at the sleek black sports car parked out in front of Robby’s house. It had a sharklike profile and sat very low to the ground. Even in the early morning sun, it looked menacing. Menacing, fast, and expensive—all the more so compared to the humorous little orange compact car Mr. Thomas had rented at the hotel.
“Wow!” Aidan exclaimed. “Whose car is that?”
“I don’t know,” said Aidan’s dad. “That car’s probably worth sixty grand.”
“It can’t be Robby’s mom’s,” Aidan said. “I mean, I guess it could be if she got a big raise or something, but when we lived here, the Piersons were just barely scraping by.”
Aidan opened the door, grabbed his backpack, and climbed out of the little orange roadster. “So, you’re coming to get me around five or six?”
“Yes,” Mr. Thomas replied.
Aidan frowned and shifted his backpack onto his shoulder.
“Things are going to be fine,” Mr. Thomas said. “Never alone!”
“Never alone,” Aidan answered back, and smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”
Aidan watched his father drive off, took a deep breath, then walked up the steps to Robby’s front door. He looked at the old-fashioned black mailbox next to the door, the diagonal house numbers—7012—and faded welcome mat. How many times had he waited at this door for his best friend? Why does it feel so weird now? Aidan wondered. I feel like a stranger here.
Aidan gently rapped on the door. He hefted the backpack and waited. The door swung open, and a very tall man stood just inside the door staring down at Aidan. The man wore a black turtleneck under a brown tweed jacket. His face was tanned and rugged-looking. His green eyes looked somewhat sunken behind smallish wire-framed glasses. His hair was pale blond, close cropped around the ears with a wavy fold gelled on top.
“You must be Aidan,” he said with a slight Southern accent. “I’m Kurt Pierson, Robby’s father.”
Father!? The word crashed into Aidan’s mind like a brick through a window. That just couldn’t be. Aidan knew that Robby’s father had run out on Robby’s family when Robby was little.
“I’ve heard an awful lot about you,” Mr. Pierson said. He reached out his hand to Aidan and smiled. Aidan shook his hand, but something about that smile didn’t seem right. It was a sickly smile like the ghastly grin of a skull.
“Is Robby here?” Aidan found himself asking.
“He’ll be down in a minute,” Mr. Pierson said. “Why don’t you join me at the dining room table.” The request sounded more like a command, and the man turned his back to Aidan and walked up the hall. There was something familiar about the way the man walked. He took long, confident strides with a slightly delayed turn of the shoulders. It reminded Aidan of the way disciplined soldiers march.
Aidan followed him into the dining room. Mr. Pierson took a seat at the head of the long, dark table. He gave Aidan another one of those skull-grins and motioned for him to sit. “So you and Robby used to be good friends.”
Aidan didn’t much like the sound of “used to be,” but he replied, “Yes, sir. I lived down the street until July. We were best friends, but then I had to move.”
“That’s a real pity,” Mr. Pierson replied. “Colorado, is it?”
Aidan nodded.
“That’s a long way from Maryland, Aidan. A long way.” Mr. Pierson whistled. “I guess by now you’ve probably made quite a few more friends like Robby has.”
Aidan didn’t like the direction Mr. Pierson was leading things. “Is Robby coming down soon?”
“Oh, he’ll be along,” said Mr. Pierson, and he cracked his knuckles. “As a matter of fact, Robby did have plans today with one of his buddies from school, but I told him he ought to stick around for an old friend.” The way he spoke—gesturing grandly and raising his voice far louder than necessary—it reminded Aidan of someone. An old teacher? Maybe. A relative? Aidan wasn’t sure.
“So, Robby tells me you like to write stories, Aidan,” Mr. Pierson said, and he waited for Aidan to answer. Aidan just stared back. “I’m a writer too. Did you know that?”
Aidan shook his head no. Mr. Pierson smiled. “Oh, yes! I write self-help books, a couple of bestsellers. Maybe you’ve heard of my latest. It’s called Principles of Power. No? Maybe I’ll get you a copy from my car. I’d be happy to sign it for you. Yes, I bet you could really get into my book. You look like you could use some power. My principles could help you.”
“What do you mean?” Aidan asked.
“Well, I certainly don’t mean any offense, but look at you. You live now over a thousand miles away, and here you are trying to keep alive an old friendship. When what you really ought to be doing . . .” Robby’s dad snatched off his glasses and leaned forward till his eyes seemed to triple in size, “is getting on with life—find yourself new friends. That’s one of the secrets to real power, Aidan—never look back.”
Aidan remained silent. He felt extremely threatened by this man who claimed to be Robby’s father. And on top of that, Aidan had the strangest feeling of alarm as if there were invisible enemies all around and they were beginning to close in.
“Everyone needs personal power, Aidan,” Mr. Pierson continued. He slid his glasses back on and tilted his head slightly. “It’s the only way to feel totally secure in a very dangerous world.” He put a sinister emphasis on the word dangerous, and Aidan felt a chill.
“Wouldn’t you like to feel powerful, Aidan?” Mr. Pierson asked. “I could show you how . . .”
Aidan knew now where true power could be found, and it wasn’t in the pages of Mr. Pierson’s book.
“No thank you, sir,” Aidan replied, trying to avoid the man’s eyes. It wasn’t that Aidan was afraid to look at him eye to eye, but he had a feeling this man was very shrewd, that he might be able to guess his thoughts. Aidan didn’t want to give him the chance. “I appreciate the offer. But really, I just came here to catch up on things with Robby. My dad had to visit his home office in the city, so I just tagged along.” Aidan glanced slightly at his backpack. He felt suddenly very conscious of his bundle of scrolls inside. “My dad will be back to pick me up between five and six.”
“Will he?” Mr. Pierson leaned back a little and smiled. He put his thick arms behind his head like a chess grandmaster whose move had been countered but still had a secret play left. “Well, that should give you and my son a nice long day together, now, shouldn’t it? Yes, I expect it will. Normally, I spend a day like today writing over at the local coffee shop, but I think today I’ll just stick around the house. So let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pierson,” Aidan replied, and he grabbed his backpack and started to get up from the table.
“Oh, Aidan, one more thing,” Mr. Pierson said. “What have you got in that backpack of yours?”
Just then, Robby came bounding into the dining room. “Hey, Aidan!” he said, and for the first time since Aidan moved, Robby sounded like the old Robby again. Aidan slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked toward his old friend.
“I was thinkin’ Aidan and I could ride bikes up to the park and throw the football around.” Robby turned to Aidan. “That is, if you don’t mind ridin’ Jill’s hunk of junk.” Aidan shrugged. He didn’t mind.
“That all right with you, Dad?”
“That’ll be fine, son,” Mr. Pierson replied, but the smile was gone. “Just remember what I told you.”
“I will, Dad. I will.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your dad?” Aidan finally blurted out as they pedaled up Mazzoni Hill on their way to the park.
“I dunno,” Robby replied. “I guess I’m still getting used to the idea myself.”
“Well, is he . . .” Aidan chose his words carefully. “Is he like he used to be?”
Robby pulled ahead a little. “Some,” he replied. “But he’s changed in a lot of ways. He’s rich.”
“I noticed the car in front of the house!” Aidan replied. “And he told me about his book.”
“Yeah, he called and said he was sorry. Mama and Jill just welcomed him back with open arms.”
“What about you?” Aidan asked.
Robby pedaled in silence a few moments. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I mean, it’s great to have my dad back. He’s real smart—helps me sort out my problems. C’mon, Aidan! Almost to the top, and then we coast!”
Robby poured it on. He rode a sleek racing bike and had little trouble getting up the hill. Aidan zipped along as best he could on Jill’s no-name bike, with the little plastic streamers coming out of the grips and a banana seat. They crested the hill and coasted side by side.
“Where were your mom and Jill? I didn’t see them at your house.”
“Shopping,” Robby replied as they reached the bottom of the hill. “If it’s a Saturday, then they’re shopping. They like spending Dad’s money.” Aidan and Robby sped through the park entrance toward the game area.
They secured their bikes, and Aidan dug into his backpack and reached for the football. As he did, his hand brushed against the Scrolls. There was so much he wanted to say, and he had rehearsed it in his mind a hundred times. But still he couldn’t quite get himself to bring it up. Aidan zipped up his backpack, and Robby went long. Maybe I’ll tell him after lunch, Aidan thought as he threw the football. It was a perfect spiral, but it sailed well past Robby’s outstretched arms.
Robby came huffing back. “That was a launch, Aidan! You been practicing?”
Aidan smiled and shrugged. “Not really.” There’s a lot about me that’s changed, Aidan thought.
They played catch while the morning sun climbed, until Robby yelled, “Punt the ball to me and then try and catch me! I’ve got a move for ya!” Aidan kicked the ball high in the air. Robby caught it and rumbled toward Aidan. Robby was fast, and he juked to the left to get by his friend. But Aidan paid no attention to the move. He watched Robby’s waist and slammed into his buddy like a freight train. Robby sprawled backward on the turf, and the football came loose and tumbled away.
Aidan held out a hand and helped Robby to his feet. “Nice hit,” Robby muttered, followed by a cough. “I was fixin’ to fake you out, but you nailed me.”
Robby shook his head as he walked over to pick up the football he had dropped.
“Mmm.” Aidan smiled, his mouth full of pizza. “Bambinos!”
“Thanks for getting us pizza, Dad,” Robby said.
“I figured two strong boys like yourselves could use a big lunch,” said Mr. Pierson. He patted Robby on the shoulder as if he had always been dear old Dad, but Aidan noticed that Robby flinched ever so slightly.
“So what are you boys going to do now?”
Robby shrugged. “Maybe play some video games. What do you want to do, Aidan?”
Aidan felt Mr. Pierson’s gaze falling steadily upon him. “That’d be good,” Aidan replied. “What games do you have?”
“Name it,” Robby replied. He got up and took his plate to the sink. “Dad got me all the systems. And a bucket of games for each.”
“Cool!” Aidan said as he stood.
“C’mon,” Robby said, and he made his way to the door to the basement. “I’ve got a really nice setup down here . . .” Robby hesitated. “Oh yeah, I forgot. You don’t like basements very much, do you?”
“Really not a problem anymore,” Aidan said, grabbing his backpack and heading down the stairs.
Robby’s basement was divided into two areas joined by a door at the bottom of the stairs. One side was comfortable, furnished, and cheery. That was where Robby and Aidan used to hang out. The other side, the work side, was exactly the opposite. It was a cold, shadowy place filled with rotting scrap wood and all manner of tools. Cobwebs adorned every corner, and the cinderblock walls had been stained long ago by some dark substance. The one light on the work side rarely worked. It hung from the ceiling like a hangman’s noose.
“So basements don’t bother you anymore?” Robby said, and he too glanced at the work-side door.
“We used to work ourselves up pretty good,” Aidan replied. Inwardly he struggled. He knew that Robby had presented him with a perfect opportunity to talk to him about the Scrolls. But that strange feeling he’d had earlier—like there were invisible enemies all around—was back and stronger.
“You want to play NHL Hockey Supreme?” Robby asked. “Or wait, I’ve got this cool two-player adventure game called Oswald’s Quest. I bet you’d like that.”
Three hours later, the boys were still playing Oswald’s Quest. And while Aidan seemed on the outside totally engrossed in hunting huge, hairy goblins, collecting piles of gold, and buying weapons and armor, he was really just playing on autopilot. Inside, his mind whirled. Get the Scrolls and tell him! he kept urging himself. But other thoughts kept complicating it. Why was Robby’s dad here? Why was he so interested in Aidan’s backpack? Why did he want Aidan to leave Robby alone?
“Score!” Robby exclaimed. “We did it! We got to the final level! I could never do it by myself. I wonder what the monster’s gonna be.”
Aidan snapped out of his trance and looked at the screen. Robby moved his sword-wielding character near the opening to a massive cave where he could ambush whatever came out. Aidan directed his bowman character into a covering position in the boughs of a tree. Aidan and Robby watched as a three-headed dragon slowly emerged from the cave. Robby attacked immediately, unleashing huge chopping strokes on the creature’s scaled belly. Most swordstrikes did no damage, but the ones that struck the dragon’s chest did. Each time Robby slashed there, all three of the dragon’s heads roared, and the creature’s eyes flashed bright red.
Suddenly, one of the dragon’s heads plucked Aidan’s archer from the tree and began to gobble him up in a very colorful way. But Aidan was not concerned any longer about the game. Seeing the red eyes flash cut through Aidan’s indecision at last. He put down his controller and went to his backpack and fished out the Scrolls.
“Aidan, you’re gettin’ walloped!” Robby said, peppering the buttons on his controller.
“Robby, could you put it on pause for a minute?” Aidan asked as he sat down next to Robby on the floor and began to untie the Scrolls.
“Okay. What is that?” Robby asked. The basement became eerily silent.
“Robby, this is what I’ve been trying to tell you about ever since I left Maryland,” Aidan said, taking a deep breath. “These are The Scrolls of Alleble.” Robby stiffened. His eyes darted just for a second to the stairs.
Aidan went on. “Do you remember before I moved, you told me that life seemed like a cruel joke?” Robby sat very still.
“I didn’t know what to say,” Aidan continued. “I felt the same way at the time. It just didn’t make sense that I had to move so far away right after I finally found a good friend. But there was a reason.”
Aidan went on to tell Robby about finding The Scrolls of Alleble and how Grampin helped him understand how to answer the invitation and enter The Realm. Aidan spoke of The Schism that divided The Realm from earth. He described the beings known as the Glimpses and told of their connection to their twins on earth. Aidan told of his training to be a knight in the service of King Eliam and of the great victory Aidan had played a role in, saving many lives.
“If I hadn’t moved,” Aidan explained, “I might never have figured out that the Scrolls were more than just a story. I needed to be near Grampin—he knew all about it, Robby. Grampin showed me the path to the other world.”
Robby looked at Aidan as if he had just told him the blue sky he’d been living under his entire life was actually purple. But Aidan was undaunted.
“Robby, you told me you hated how tragic and unpredictable life is. You said you always wanted something you could count on.” He flipped through the Scrolls and found the account of the Great Betrayal. “Robby, there is someone you can count on. He is the ruler of Alleble, and his name is King Eliam the Everlasting. I want you to read this and see what the King did for his people.”
Robby said nothing, but began to read the account. Aidan would have given his right arm to know what Robby was thinking at this point. But soon, Robby’s facial expressions began to tell a story. First there were subtle shakes of the head as if Robby disagreed with what he was reading. Next came the scrunching of his eyebrows and the squinting, and then he took a sharp breath. Just as he was about to speak, the basement door opened.
“It’s getting kind of quiet down here, boys,” said Mr. Pierson as he hastily descended the stairs. When he reached the bottom of the steps he was smiling. But when he saw Robby with the Scrolls in his lap, his face contorted. His tanned skin, which to Aidan already looked stretched and unnatural, became so taut with rage that it seemed his skull would burst right through. His sunken eyes bulged behind the wire-rimmed glasses, and he directed his stare, heavy with accusation, at Aidan. Then he turned to his son.
“Whatcha got there, Robby?” Mr. Pierson asked, his voice as taut as his skin.
Robby glanced at Aidan miserably. “Scrolls,” he muttered at last.
“Scrolls, huh?”
“Th-they’re Aidan’s,” Robby said.
“I think you ought to give them back to Aidan, right about now,” Mr. Pierson said in an emotionless voice that was somehow worse than anger. “Don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Robby replied, and he practically threw the Scrolls at Aidan. Aidan swiftly rolled them up and shoved them into his backpack. He turned and looked up at the massive figure of Robby’s father.
In that moment, Aidan saw in the face of Robby’s father a different identity. The skull-like grimace, the barely concealed rage, the arrogant confidence—Aidan remembered. “Rucifel,” he whispered.
Mr. Pierson’s expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and one corner of his thin-lipped mouth turned up into a clever smile. “Robby, I think your friend Aidan has just about worn out his welcome here.” He reached slowly underneath his jacket.
Aidan involuntarily stepped back a pace. Then, to Aidan’s relief, Mr. Pierson pulled out a cell phone. “Call your father,” Mr. Pierson said. “Tell him to come get you . . . right now.”
Aidan punched in the number, spoke for a few moments, and then handed the phone back to Robby’s father. “He said he’d be here in about twenty-five minutes.”
“Good,” Mr. Pierson replied. He led Robby and Aidan up the stairs. When they entered the hallway at the top of the steps, Mr. Pierson directed Aidan to the front door.
“You are no longer welcome in this house, Aidan Thomas. So you’d best make other plans for tomorrow.”
And with that, Mr. Pierson ushered Aidan out the front door into the yard. But not before Aidan spied Robby gesturing to get his attention. Aidan stared, and Mr. Pierson turned.
“Son, we need to have a talk,” Mr. Pierson said, adjusting his glasses. “Go to your room.”
But it was too late. Aidan had gotten the message. Robby had mouthed the word “fort.”
