It was four in the morning, and Mr. Miller shook Andrew by the foot.
“Hitch up Duke, the big black one, to the small covered wagon. Don’t worry about my old gray, she’ll never let you bridle her. I’ll throw it on her when you’re ready, and we’ll tie her to the wagon. We’re going to my house. Come on, I want to be on the road before sunup.”
Andrew rubbed his eyes, stretched his arms wide and yawned. He got up slowly, walked down the stairs, out the back door and quietly closed it. He walked the short distance to the barn behind the house, but was surprised at how warm it was. The sun wasn’t even up and it was probably eighty degrees. He went inside the barn, the temperature jumped ten degrees, and it smelled just like a horse stable in the summer.
The old gray was sleeping in the stable, but Duke heard the latch and his massive black head was already facing Andrew when he opened the door. With tired eyes and slow steps, Andrew made his way over to the tack area and gathered the horse’s well-worn attire.
“I know, I know. You think I want to be up this early either?” he said to Duke. “At least you got some sleep last night.”
Duke shook his big black head as if he understood.
“Wake up ya old gray horse!”
She opened her eyes as if she’d been listening the whole time.
“You’re not gonna give me any trouble are you?”
The old mare just closed her eyes again.
In thirty minutes, Andrew had Duke hitched to the wagon with the oiled-canvas cover. Mr. Miller was right, Andrew couldn’t set the bridle in the old gray’s mouth, and he just left the stubborn goat in her stable with the door closed.
Just before Andrew reached for the latch on the back door of the house, Mr. Miller poked his head out.
“You ready to go yet?”
“Yes sir, but you’ll have to set the bridle in her mouth.”
“Yep, I thought as much. That stubborn old thing is gonna be the end of me. Here, hold the door open while I bring Connor out. He’s still on The Root, and we’re gonna lay him in the back of the wagon. You’re gonna sit back there and keep him from rolling around.”
Andrew held the door as first light started to show itself, and a moment later Mr. Miller stepped out sideways with Connor cradled in his arms. His foot was sticking out at an awkward angle, and the bandages were a sickly shade of yellow.
“Let’s get a move on,” Mr. Miller grumbled, “It’s gonna be a long hot day, and we’ve got a few miles to travel before you can rest a wink. Get inside and grab a couple of blankets from upstairs.”
“Yes sir,” Andrew mumbled.
“And grab the old wool pillow for his foot and something to rest his head on. And don’t worry about anything else, just hurry up.”
The back door banged shut behind Andrew and after a quick trip upstairs, he had two blankets under one arm and a bed pillow under the other. From the back room, he carefully plucked the wool pillow up with his fingertips. It was covered with the stiff, crusty ooze from Connor’s toe, making it stick to the leather footrest, and it had a rancid smell. Making his way out of the house, he pushed the old wooden door closed with his elbow.
Mr. Miller had Connor propped up in a sitting position on the end of the wagon. Andrew walked over, and Mr. Miller said, “Good, now put those blankets in the back of the wagon. We’ll lay him down, and you can help me drag him in.
Andrew climbed in and quickly spread them out. The wagon was too small to stand in without hitting the canopy, so he crawled back to Connor and put his hands behind his shoulders.
“Watch his head,” Mr. Miller instructed, letting Connor’s weight fall onto Andrew. Andrew tried to ease him down onto his back, but Connor’s head rolled backward and caught Andrew on the chin.
“Ouch!”
“Just because he’s as dumb as a chicken doesn’t mean you have to be!”
Connor went down the final few inches while Andrew tried to keep his head from hitting the bed of the wagon. He rubbed his chin and was pretty sure Connor would have a knot on the back of his head when he woke up.
Mr. Miller grabbed Connor’s ankles as Andrew hunched over in the wagon. Andrew lifted and pulled, Mr. Miller pushed, and after a few pushes and pulls, they had Connor in position. Mr. Miller grabbed the old wool pillow from the end of the wagon and squeezed it before putting it under Connor’s foot. Andrew heard it crackle and watched Mr. Miller drop the pillow at the end of the wagon and cautiously sniff his moist hands.
“Oh dear God!” he coughed.
“I was gonna tell you, but I forgot.”
He set the moist, yellowish-gray pillow under Connor’s bandaged foot.
“I don’t have time for this right now,” he said. “And burn that thing tonight when we’re at my house. The sun is coming up, and we’re gonna have to make good time to avoid attention.”
Andrew nodded and sat down next to Connor. Yawning, he said, “I’m gonna fall asleep if we don’t get moving.”
“Watch his head and try to keep his leg as steady as you can.”
“I will.”
Mr. Miller turned away from the wagon, then turned back, and asked, “Andrew?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Everything is about to change. You know that don’t you?”
With another big yawn, Andrew said, “I think it already did.”
“I’m sorry your dad couldn’t be here.”
“Me, too.”
“Did you like the first page?”
“I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but I can’t wait to go to the Kingdom.” Andrew took a deep breath and let it out, saying, “I think it’s probably worth it.”
“Tell me that when we’re half-way across the Wastelands and I just might believe you.”
Andrew leaned over a little so he didn’t have to raise his voice. “If the rest of the book is anything like what I saw last night, you’ll get the same answer every time.”
“Just remember,” Mr. Miller said, walking around the side of the small wagon, “the Kingdom either takes you, or it takes everything away from you. There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground.”
He walked back to the house and in just a couple of minutes Andrew heard the door open and close for the last time. The cart tilted sharply to one side as Mr. Miller climbed onto the front. He had a large bundle under his arm wrapped in a stout wool blanket. He popped the reins, and the little wagon lurched forward. The sun was just up over the horizon, the old wooden cart kicked up dust, and they were off.
From inside the wagon, Andrew could see the first shafts of light playing through the trees. It looked serene until the cart hit a rut and Andrew’s head bounced off a support rod.
“Watch it back there and keep his head still. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
Mr. Miller had his arms stretched out in front of him with the reins in his hands. Andrew could see the bumpy, pitted scars and the hairs growing at odd angles.
“What happened to your arms?” he asked hesitantly.
After a long pause, Mr. Miller said, “Like most men, I’ve paid a high price for my trip to the Kingdom.”
Glancing back, he said, “It happened when J.D., I mean Connor’s dad, and I were coming back from the river after we lost your dad. I got the idea in my head that we needed to test the shield.”
“What do you mean, test it?”
“We could tell it was magical. It’s actually unbelievable just how beautiful it is. Anyway, I thought it would be a good test of its strength if J.D. held it the proper way and I took a swing at it with the little mace I had on my belt. We had already finished crossing the river, and we were about half a day from our base camp when I finally convinced him we should test it.
He held the shield, and I took out my mace. I held on with both hands and J.D. nodded for me to give it a whack.” Mr. Miller draped the reins over his forearms and started rubbing both of his hands together like he was washing up for supper. “I gave it one good swing and the next thing I knew, I woke up on the ground in agony.
Later, J.D. told me about the tiny rainbows and how they danced around the edges of the shield and all over my mace. They covered my hands and arms, then they exploded, and I got shot back about ten feet.
I had my eyes open by the time J.D. was standing over me, and all I could do was scream from the pain.”
He stopped rubbing his hands and held up his arms, letting Andrew see the scars. “As far as I can tell, each pockmark is where the little bastards went in, and every bump is where they came out. We never did find my mace.
J.D. carried me back to the Cups, and I stuck my arms in the icy water. It helped; at least they went numb for a little while. We spent the night by the river because every time I took my arms out of the water, it felt like they were on fire. The next morning he carried my pack for me, and I stumbled along behind him. I don’t remember how we got back to our base camp. All I really remember is the pain.”
The damage was cruel looking, and Andrew couldn’t imagine the pain Mr. Miller must have suffered.
“Did you have any of The Root?”
“We had some of it at the camp, but the Heroes never take it because they never need it.” He said the last part at a slow pace almost as if it had to come out, but he didn’t want it to.
“I took it,” he told Andrew. “And know this. Some pain can’t be touched by The Root. I don’t know if it’s the type of pain or the amount of pain that makes the difference. All it did to me was make me stupid. Even after I took it, the pain was beyond description. I would pass out every three or four hours because I couldn’t fight it anymore. Either that or because The Root made me so stupid I would use my hands to grab something. As soon as I touched anything, the pain would wash over me. I felt like I was drowning in it, then I would pass out again.”
“That must be some shield.”
Mr. Miller turned his head and met Andrew’s eyes. “It’s not just a shield. It’s a defensive weapon that will defeat anything that strikes it.”
“How do you know? Maybe it just attacked you because you had a weapon.”
“You’re a smart boy, Andrew. It’s a good question. A few years ago, I had it out so I could move it again. Hide it you know, where nobody could find it. I threw a few rocks into the air when I had it on my arm. I don’t know how to describe what happened, but because of the shield, the world is missing a few rocks.”
“Didn’t you say I would see the shield when I got trapped in the book?”
“You will, but it’s not for a few more pages.”
“I still don’t understand what you’re saying about pages. I wasn’t on a page, I was in the book.”
Mr. Miller grinned, and said, “You ain’t seen nothin yet boy. Every page is a different view of what the author wanted you to see, feel, and investigate. When you turn a page, you change the scene.”
“But how can you turn the page if you’re trapped?”
“You can’t, but I can turn them for you.”
“I don’t want to be rude, but who would make a book that takes two people to turn the pages?”
“The way I figure it, the author was probably the only one who could read it without getting trapped. Whoever wrote it wanted to keep it secret, and that’s why it traps anybody who’s not supposed to be reading it.”
“That’s a good trick,” Andrew said, “but who wrote it?” and as the words came out, he realized he already knew.
“I think I’ve known all along. It was written by the Lady I saw, wasn’t it?”
“You mean the Lady of the Tower? The Maker of the Spire? The Daughter of Hope? The Bringer of Unity? Yep, she’s the one!
She’s the woman you saw in the tower, the one who was crying. This book is, or I guess was, hers and the next twenty pages are yours to explore. I’m confident she would not approve, but then again, we must all learn what we can when we can,” Mr. Miller trailed off in a mystical way.
“I think I know what it says on the cover.”
“You do, do you?”
“It says, My Diary.”
Mr. Miller turned again and looked at Andrew. He raised an eyebrow, and asked, “Andrew, how could you possibly know that?”
“Right now, from the look on your face I would love to say I don’t know, but it was the Light. You know, the Light in the book, or I guess I mean it was the magic, the magic of the Lady. I feel so stupid for not realizing it until now. I mean that it wasn’t a light. The Lady’s magic was guiding me. It was inside of me, it was part of me. It could see me, and it could see the things I’ve done.
She translated the words for me over the archways. She showed me things. Some things were wonderful, but others were horrible, and I guess the letters just make sense now. Didn’t that happen for you too?”
There was a long silence, and Connor started to get restless. Andrew did his best to keep him steady as the old wooden cart jostled and bumped its way out of town.
Mr. Miller turned Duke up another dusty road, then he called out, “All right, we’re here. I’ve got Connor; you take care of the horses.”
Duke was foaming. It wasn’t more than three miles door to door, but the heat of the morning took its toll.
Andrew scooted out of the back of the wagon while Mr. Miller quickly moved around to the back, pulling Connor out by his legs.
“Go on boy, I’ve got this. I want the horses fed and watered. There’s a cellar under this old shack, and you can get a break from the heat down there. Finish tending to the horses, get a drink from the well out back, then get some shut-eye in the cellar. I’ll wake you for supper.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Andrew?”
Andrew lifted his weary head again, “Yes sir?”
“Don’t come in the house when you’re done, just go straight to the cellar. There’s a bed down there. Just climb in and get some shut-eye.”
He yawned again and holding his hand to his mouth, he asked, “Why can’t I come inside?”
“We’ll have the book open.”
“What if I wake up before you come and get me for supper?”
“If you wake up, and it’s dark outside, you’re the last man standing. Put on a blindfold and figure out how to close the damn book.”
Andrew didn’t know if Mr. Miller was serious, but he took it that way and nodded.
“Good,” Mr. Miller said, cradling Connor in his arms and starting toward the front door of the house.
Mr. Miller’s house was easily twice the size of the house they had just come from and except for the roof, it was made entirely of fieldstone. It reminded Andrew of a miniature castle. He watched as Mr. Miller stepped through the front door with Connor, then he went to tend to the horses.
Twenty minutes later, Andrew was walking out of the barn. Once again, he was covered in dirt and sweat, and his mouth was as dry as a leather strap. He went behind the barn to the well.
The large wooden bucket spun and swayed as he cranked the rusty chain through the pulley. Reeling the leaky bucket back up, he pulled it over to the side of the old stone well and set it on the edge. It held at least three gallons, and he plunged his head in up to his ears and drank until he couldn’t hold his breath anymore. When he stood up, his hair was soaking, and he was gasping for breath, but the sweet taste of the cold well water sent him down for another couple of mouths full.
With a soaking wet shirt and hair to match, Andrew made his way to the east side of the house where he found the double doors to the cellar. The thick, pine boards sat resting at a slight angle just above the ground. The old ironwork holding them together was as faded as the wood.
He grabbed one of the smooth handles, and it was already warm to the touch. Rocking his weight back, he pulled at it with both hands until it opened halfway. The hinges creaked, the wood complained, and the door thumped against the ground.
The hazy light of the early day pierced the dark shadows of the cellar, illuminating tiny flecks of dust and dirt. Stepping down into the shadows, he knew he was on the verge of collapsing, but he paused on the final step while his eyes adjusted.
An old plow sat off to his right with some dusty crates next to it. To his left was a dresser with a couple of missing drawers. Behind the dresser was the fieldstone wall holding up the back of the house. With no candle or lantern in sight, he decided to leave the door open.
With his feet on the floor, he could barely make out a long, dark blur about knee high at the far end of the cellar. With one hand gently feeling for obstacles and the other hand sticking straight out, Andrew made his way into the darkness.
His leg brushed against what he hoped was a cot, and he reached down with both hands to investigate. To his relief, he felt the soft cotton bed linens and a plump pillow. Within minutes, he was flat on his back, sound asleep.
Andrew dreamed he was standing in a great hall where shining shafts of light shone down in bright unbroken beams. Beautiful tapestries covered the walls, and ornate furniture gave it a formal but comfortable feel.
A tall, powerful, and very angry looking man dressed in white armor stepped through a doorway and began walking toward him from across the room. The wooden heel of his high leather boots sent a hollow sound echoing around the room.
The man was twenty paces away when he unsheathed a crystal sword and quickened his pace. With his gleaming crystal rapier pointed at Andrew, the man in white shouted, “How dare you enter where others cannot! You will pay for your reckless indiscretion!” Andrew raised a magnificent shield to protect himself, but the man dropped his sword and grabbed the shield.
Andrew sat up, yelling, “No, No, No! I’ll never let it go, never!”
Andrew tried to pull his arm away from his attacker, but the man in white held fast to the shield.
“No! I’ll never let it go,” Andrew yelled, “She gave it to me! Help me! Somebody, help me!”
“Andrew, Andrew! Andrew, wake up!”
Water splashed onto Andrew’s face, and he opened his eyes. There was a hand on his wrist, and he tried to pull away, but Mr. Miller held tight.
“Let go, what are you doing? Where’s my shield? What are you doing?”
Mr. Miller had a lantern in his right hand and an empty tin cup around his finger. His left hand was wrapped around Andrew’s wrist, and the look in his eyes was frightening.
“Andrew, it’s just a dream. You’re having a dream.”
Andrew knew he had been dreaming, but he couldn’t figure out when it had started or stopped.
“When did you get here?”
“We heard you yelling from upstairs. I came to wake you, but when I got to the bottom of the steps, I thought you were awake.”
Mr. Miller let go of Andrew’s wrist.
“I thought I was, too,” Andrew said, sounding confused.
“I brought you some water,” Mr. Miller said, looking concerned, “Sorry about having to throw it on you. I didn’t know how else to wake you up.”
“Did I try to hit you?” Andrew asked, wiping off his face.
“No, but you were flapping your arm around like somebody had a hold of it. Your eyes were closed, too.”
“Somebody did have a hold of it. Not my arm though, he was trying to take my…,” Andrew stumbled for the right words, “I mean the shield away from me.” He reached over and rubbed his left shoulder. “It still hurts.”
There was a long uncomfortable pause. “What kind of a dream…?!”
“Strange things are happening Andrew, things I can’t explain. Come on, somebody upstairs wants to say hello.”
“Upstairs?”
Mr. Miller laughed, “You’re down in my cellar. What, did you forget? You’ve been sleeping for twelve hours.”
He led Andrew up the worn wooden stairs until the stars came into view. Andrew could smell the wood fire burning and something delicious cooking.
After ten paces, they rounded the front corner of the stone house, and Andrew saw Connor standing on the front porch. He had a bowl in his hand and an entire slice of bread in his mouth. Holding up his hand, he mumbled, “Hey Andrew, you gotta try this stuff. It’s fantastic!”
Mr. Miller looked at Andrew, and said, “You’re the only one that’s slept in two days. I’m going to go to the cot you just got out of, don’t wake me up. By the way, Connor made it through the first two pages and his foot is almost completely healed. The book has the power to heal you if you stay in it long enough. Now get something to eat and please, don’t talk about anything outside of the house. We can’t afford anybody overhearing what the two of you might be talking about.”
Andrew nodded as Mr. Miller turned, and said, “Goodnight.”
His footsteps fell away, and Andrew climbed the front steps where Connor stood smiling on the front porch. Connor just looked down at him with a big grin. He had some stew stuck in his teeth and he stretched out his arms, saying, “What do you think? Can you believe it?”
Andrew felt a smile creep onto his face as he faked a punch to Connor’s ribs. Connor pulled his arms in to protect himself and the stew in his bowl launched in a high arc over Andrew’s head.
Connor’s reflexes were perfect, but he lost his balance and fell back against the front of the house. He dropped his bowl and Andrew reached his hand out just in time to keep Connor on his feet.
“Whoa, I was just joking,” Andrew said, pulling Connor upright. “What was that all about?”
Looking confused and irritated, Connor said, “You have no idea how important your big toe is.”
Andrew grabbed the bowl off the porch, tossed it back to Connor, and asked, “Where’s mine?”
“It’s in the house. Come on, I could use another bowl myself.”
Connor started toward the door with a bit of a limp, but after a few steps, he found his rhythm.
“Does it hurt?”
“No, but we shouldn’t talk about it out here. Come inside, it’s a little warm in the house, but at least we can talk without anyone overhearing us.”