At a nearby crèmepuff stand, on the opposite side of the teller house, two glass marbles, with the complexities of the cosmos in them, shined in wonder and awe—
No!—wait!—upon closer examination it is discovered that what were originally thought to be two glass marbles, with the complexities of the cosmos in them, are actually a set of eyes!
Yes! Still shining in wonder and awe! Still as complex! Staring at an overhead sign, which read:
FRESH WARM CRÈMEPUFFS …. 15¢
“HEY, KID! YOU’VE BEEN STARING AT THE SIGN FOR OVER A MINUTE NOW! BUY ONE OR GET LOST!!”
The gruff voice was from somewhere at the back of the long-forming line.
Instantly, the large celestial eyes—an array of lights and colors—clicked off and resumed their natural blue hue.
The crèmepuff stand clerk (in his white smock and white paper hat) leaned over the edge of the wooden counter, and peered down at the bright face in front of him. Its blue eyes and blonde freckles practically glowed in the early morning sun.
“He’s right, young lady,” said the clerk, putting a hand out frustratedly. “Order somethin’ or step aside. I got kids ta feed, ya know!”
The girl—so filled with candor and vivacity—clasped her hands together, said finally:
“Two please!”
She was somewhere in her early adolescence.
With her hands held in joyful anticipation, one leg kicked up behind her, her eyes twinkled as the clerk handed over the two puffs on a sheet of wax paper.
The young girl’s eyes matched her blue summer dress perfectly; which was tailored with no sleeves, an open neckline, and knee-high hemming. Her blonde hair was as yellow as the sun, spun into corkscrewed curls—not unlike little cylinders—that fell to and bounced about her shoulders as she walked and talked.
Two red ribbons were at the top of her head.
Her stockings were pulled all the way down, bunched around her ankles like socks, above low-heeled black-and-white saddle oxfords.
She smiled and took the crèmepuffs from the clerk.
“Thank you.” An uncontainable smile of delight showed naturally straight white teeth under golden cheeks.
The girl had just moved from the line—much to the delight of the other customers—and was turning, holding her precious crèmepuffs tight, looking for the two who were probably looking for her, when she slammed right into the thing that made her drop her prized puffs facedown on the ground and stumble back.
The girl looked up.
She frowned into the giant black silhouette that towered over her, blocking out the sun. It cast a dark shadow around her.
The tall thin man in front of her was dressed in all black.
He had on a long black trench coat, black leather pants, pointed black boots, a large black hat, small round black sunglasses.
Black leather gloves.
He was dressed terribly strange for the climate. In his left hand was a walking stick for the blind.
Two burly men were on either side of him, escorting him along.
The tall man in black smiled gently. He reached out his gloved hand and touched the girl’s face.
“Oh, my,” he said, running his gloved fingers over the girl’s cheeks; her nose; her lips. “Excuse me.”
He was looking straight off into the distance, feeling the girl’s face with his gloved hand, as she stood completely still. Frozen almost.
“But you really should be more careful, young lady,” the man in black said. “Especially around the disabled. Good day.” And he withdrew his hand and raised his big black hat, still smiling with a slight nod.
The two strapping men ushered him off and the girl turned to watch them walk away. The tall man was walking strangely and certainly looked like he needed the help.
Goosebumps were still on the girl’s neck as she turned back and looked down at her smashed crèmepuffs on the ground. They had been stepped on.
Just then came the announcement over the loudspeakers for the departing locomotive.
With a shrug the girl dismissed the things on the ground, and ran off in the direction of the steaming train.
Astor and the young boy were still wandering along, searching for the young mischievous girl impatiently, when the boy felt arms wrap him up and restrain him.
“Boo!”
The startled boy wriggled free and spun around.
There was the girl, big snicker on her blonde freckled face.
“Race!” the boy cried.
“Haha! Gotcha!”
“There you are!” the old man fumed.
“Papa!” the girl exclaimed.
“How many times have I told you not to wander!? Do you want to ruin everything!? Now stay with me for once!” The elder grabbed the girl by the wrist and didn’t let go.
The two children exchanged faces.
Then the steam whistle sounded twice and a conductor stuck his head through the small train window and hollered:
“ALL ABOOOOOOOARD!!! LAST CALL FOR THE TRAIN TO TRUX! ALL ABOOOOAAARD!!!”
The three finally stepped onto the train just as it was set in motion, and found a row of empty seats in back of one of the coaches, next to a window.
The three slipped into the last row at the rear of the coach. The old man slid in first, the little boy next to him, and the girl in the aisle seat.
The old man looked more nervous than before, his dark eyes darting around to the other passengers in the car. The brown satchel was tucked snug under his jacket, out of sight.
“Now be still you two, and try and behave for once!” His voice was crisp, and he directed that last remark at the girl.
She just frowned.
The train was really going now and all the other passengers in the car had finally settled themselves in. The din of chatter rose in a steady roll of noise.
A waiter came up.
“Good morning, he bowed. “May I get you anything to drink?” He flipping over a pad and reached his pencil from his ear.
“Three waters, please,” said the old man. His eyes were alert and preoccupied.
“Will that be all?”
“Can I have—” the girl began.
“That will be all!” the old man hissed.
The waiter jumped slightly, stepped away with a “Very well.”
The elder leaned over the boy and whispered angrily at the girl: “Stop drawing attention to us!”
With a pout the girl just stared ahead, her golden tubes of hair piled around her neck and shoulders.
As the train rolled along its path the two kids began to quietly entertain one another. The old man looked down at them with sad eyes.
‘It’s not their fault,’ he thought. ‘They didn’t ask to be part of this. They were just thrown in like kids in a country at war. Look at how gentile they are.…’
The kids had started a sort of patty-cake game. The old man frowned. His brow wrinkled.
‘Just have to get this where it is going,’ he said silently to himself, clutching the satchel. ‘Then everything will be fine … just fine…and I will go back to single-malt scotches and tending to my garden….’
He turned then and gazed out the large window at his side. The sun was sparkling off the wide, rolling green hills of the countryside. White birds fluttered to and from bushy trees in the distance. In the sheen of the glass he could see his faint reflection staring back at him.
‘Getting fainter all the time,’ he thought.
Then he thought about how they had gotten here….
The sagely wizard Astor slogged gravely up the torch-lit stone spiral stairwell—to the chamber of the High Order counsel.
He had been a wizard, and a rather established one, at the High Order of Magic for as long as he could remember … Practically raised there. But still, he had never liked when he was summoned to the counsel room. It was never for anything good. That much was for certain.
He recited the password he had been given and a
small insignia burned red in the giant rock door in front of him. Then the rock parted down the middle and slid away, allowing him entrance into the dark room.
Inside all was pitch black, except for a small stone seat, directly in the center, lit by an overhead spotlight.
The old wizard trudged over to the flat stone and seated himself. He had a long green-and-gold robe on, like a clergyman, which signified his dignified position. In his arms were a large book, and two scrolls, which he had just been given the night before.
Though he couldn’t see them, he knew they were there. The Thirteen Sages of the High Order Counsel—all hidden by the blackness, each in their respective purple-and-gold robes. They sat in a circle around the lit center seat, only their voices being heard … their faces hidden.
At the top of the circle was the Head. The ruling decider. The 13th vote. The one man who presided over the entire Order like a final say king.
The loud crack of the closing rock doors rumbled the room.
Astor tried to get comfortable on the small, cold stone. He couldn’t. The beam of white light shown down on him with increasing heat. Sweat rolled down his face.
“Welcome,” said the Head—the cold, stern voice emanating from somewhere in the black. “We gather you know why you are here.”
Astor nodded. Swallowed.
“You are to transport the artifact to the nether region of the north, to the Holy Oceans of Kaii—the northern most extremity of the globe. From there you will see that it descends into the Swallowing Sea, where it will be lost forever. The Dark Order will be watching for this, therefore we will surprise them in our means of travel and approach. Since they’ve likely counted on any situation we could logically think up and will be planning a counter.
“ This journey is of the utmost