ONE

 

Celesta was an angel. A genuine eternal spirit-being. One of her responsibilities was to play music on the beautiful green hill at the Hub of Time. Without the power of that music, dark things – evil things – would make inroads into this most vital place, a place not on Earth yet connected to it by interdimensional spaces called Doors.

Within each Door were Portals leading to every possible moment in human history. Thus the past, present, future were one and the same because all existed simultaneously. Whoever controlled the Hub would have access to all of mankind’s moments of existence, and in this lay the opportunity for wide-spread destruction. After all, it might take no more than the death of a bumblebee, or the momentary distraction of a child’s attention, to cause a small chain reaction that could potentially affect all life on Earth, changing what should have been. Maintaining the Balance, therefore, was of the utmost importance, and to accomplish this, the darkness had to be kept at bay.

Normally another would be sitting there playing the music of Light that kept the Earth from colliding with itself. But at this non-moment, he was elsewhere and Celesta was keeping watch in his stead. This individual had become known by a variety of names and titles. To some, he was “The Croghan,” to others, simply, “Croghan.” To those who counted him as a mysterious but dear friend, he was “Gerald Croghan.” His chief title, however, was Keeper of the Doors, a job he’d held literally for millennia. Of necessity, he’d been changed into something no longer completely human.

A brief sparkle of brilliance flashed before Celesta, who was bent happily over the strings, her almost translucent fingers sweeping with joy across the shining silver strands. The Light within her detected this kindred crackle of energy and she looked up, becoming impossibly bright herself, her human-like form swallowed by her own blinding radiance.

A Voice spoke into her essence. “When our Keeper returns, you must send him back to the boy immediately.”

“Is something amiss?”

“Yes and not at all, dear Celesta. He is well, but has suffered what human warriors call a pre-emptive strike.”

“Ah.” She nodded, which in her case was more a thought than an action. “That dark creature thinks to intimidate the child, yes?”

“Indeed, but the boy is strong. He will see the attack for what it is and not be completely discouraged. He must be instructed in the Words of the Scroll immediately, as must the human girl-child, Celeste, and her sweet friend, Katie.”

Celesta agreed, making her assent known without speaking. She knew the Voice was referring to the only three human beings capable of effectively ending the reign of terror against mankind by Moloch. This creature was a high-ranking member of the One-Third, the spirit-beings who had defied the Great Magistrate, and followed the original Light of the Morning into a futile battle against their own Creator. Foolishly, they had believed the lie that darkness was somehow greater than Light, that a creation could defeat its Creator, and had paid dearly.

But so had mankind, and only by the Creator’s vast mercy and love did the human race eventually find a path to wholeness, an opportunity to rejoin the Great Magistrate as part of His family. That had been the work of His Son. But now someone had been chosen to fight Moloch, to send it into a deeper place of darkness from which it would become ineffective for a time.

That someone was a boy named Cian MacDara, the descendant of a Drunic priest. This ancestor had defied Moloch when the creature was masquerading as an Irish deity named Crom Cruach. Celesta had been shown that Cian would face Moloch one day, but would need several years to prepare. Taking him from his home in Donegal, Ireland in AD 535 when he was eight years old, the Keeper had brought him into the Hub and from there, the boy had traveled through time and across continents to learn how to wield a sword. He would eventually need to be proficient with the Sword of Light itself, a device which, when used in conjunction with a knowledge of the Scroll, could banish anything and everything dark.

But alas, Moloch had found Cian when he was still a child living in a newer century and different place. The creature had subjected him to six years of pain and torture at the hands of a family that was easily manipulated to commit such atrocities against a little boy. Only by Celesta’s interference did the child escape the worst kind of abuse, but he was nonetheless terribly scarred from many beatings, emotionally wounded from the lies and cruelties poured into his young ears over the course of those long, terrible years.

“What would You have the Keeper do, then?” asked Celesta, all such thoughts sweeping through her mind in non-time and thus taking no time at all.

“He must return to the place where Cian lives to assure the man – Joseph Geller – that there is no cause for alarm. He must then speak the ancient words of assurance and healing to the boy, who will sleep normally for a time, and be fully recovered upon awakening.”

Celesta made a sound like the echo of a sigh, her audible acknowledgement of comprehension and compliance. She smiled, her form solidifying once more to mask the brilliance that would have blinded mortal eyes. “He has returned, Glorious One – I shall convey your wishes.”

Another spark, this time filled with delight at the angel’s gentle obedience, and the Voice was gone. A moment later, a man dressed incongruously in a casual business suit under a large, dark blue coat, a red scarf around his throat, climbed the hill and knelt before Celesta.

“My beloved Croghan,” she said, extending a hand and stroking his dark hair. She was a huge being, much taller and impossibly more beautiful than any human, but her affection for this man was almost deferential.

“Celesta. I must tell you how overjoyed Donal Kelly was to have met you. Even now, he is probably still speaking of you to his wife.”

“Yes, the father of sweet Celeste is a man full of natural goodness. I enjoyed meeting him as well. But now I must ask you to return.”

Croghan frowned and stood. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes and not at all,” she replied, using her Creator’s term. Most angels were messengers, and all of them had a bit of the messenger in them. This gave them a tendency to repeat verbatim what they’d been told.

“How so?”

“His enemy, the one he must soon face, has entered the boy’s dreams and attempts to intimidate him into giving up before the real battle even begins. This will make him terribly weary, so you must be there when the dark spirit leaves him and speak the ancient words of assurance and healing.”

Nodding, the man bowed. “I shall do this. And when I return here, I will bring the Harper with me.” He was referring to the girl, Celeste Kelly, who had been chosen to be Cian’s version of the Keeper’s Celesta. She would play back the darkness of lesser evil beings while he did battle with the greater. The two had met only three Earth days before, but already the Keeper could sense a strong bond between them.

Celesta gave him a slow smile. “Yes, you shall, and with her you must also bring the Attendant, she whose friendship is meant to sustain the Harper at the end.”

“Ah, Katie.”

The angel giggled. “Indeed, dear Croghan.”

Loving her purely, the only way in which to love such a being, Croghan bowed once more and took his leave.

It was beginning in earnest, that which had been so long in preparing, and which had nearly been thwarted by the enemy. Still, goodness had prevailed, and at last the thing could be seen through.

Returning through a cleverly-hidden Portal that led into a basement storage area of the Mystic Seaport Museum in Connecticut, the Keeper – Gerald Croghan once more – stepped out into the frosty morning air of February, reaching his Jaguar a moment before the museum’s personnel began arriving. He thought about Cian, the young man upon whose shoulders had been placed the weight of a destiny of nearly unthinkable proportions according to human logic, but which in eternal terms, made total, dynamic sense.

The group foster home where the boy was now living was nearly an hour away from the seaport, but Croghan was in no hurry. He knew Cian would be fine, that there was still time until Moloch released him from the nightmare. After that, his greatest need would be rest. How to explain all of this to Geller, though – now that was another story! He gave this his full attention, at last deciding to use the psychology angle.

Cian had undergone a great deal of emotional suffering between the ages of ten and sixteen, not to mention the physical trauma evidenced by the brutal scars scoring his back, the newest ones still dark red with remembered violence. Yet somehow he’d maintained his basic goodness, choosing to empathize with, and care about, others rather than feed on the cruelty doled out to him in massive and undeserved doses.

Something the boy had said rang truest: the enemy had made a big mistake by hurting him this way. The smarter course would have been to leave him alone, and for one rather unusual but undeniable reason – Cian MacDara was arguably the most physically beautiful human being ever born. Yet the ghoulish foster-family that had raised him had torn away this reality from him.

Removing all mirrors and covering all reflective surfaces, they repeatedly told the ten-year-old that he was the opposite of everything he actually was. They insisted he was so ugly, so horrifying to look upon, that he could never go outside, never attend school, never be seen by others. He was made to look down whenever addressing or being addressed by his foster-mother and her two children. They also convinced him that he was incredibly stupid, and for that reason alone, school would have been a useless endeavor.

Eventually, they broke him. He grew up convinced of these lies, and only the hard work and diligence of those who rescued him when he was sixteen enabled him to see the truth. But the experience had been so deep-seated that he remained, and probably always would be, humble.

For some reason, Moloch hadn’t realized that allowing Cian to to grow up in a more normal environment would most likely have caused him to become consumed by pride and vanity – hardly a young man worthy or able to go after the very darkness he would have himself embodied. Cian recognized this, and had said as much to Croghan the day before while at the Kelly’s home. He and Croghan had spent the day explaining to the girl’s parents not only who and what Cian was, but their daughter Celeste’s purpose as well. It hadn’t been easy, but the couple had eventually been convinced, Mr. Kelly’s trip to the Hub finalizing his acceptance of the situation.

Turning onto the street where the foster home had been established, Croghan rehearsed his explanation once more, then pulled up in front of the huge Tudor house. He was ready for what was to come. His only concern now was that everyone else involved would be as ready as he.

 

*******

 

“That’s it – I’m calling the doctor.”

“No, Joe, it isn’t necessary. Please trust me.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with him, then?”

Gerald Croghan looked down at the sleeping boy, watching carefully for the sign.

“Gerald, please. He – he looks dead, for heaven’s sake! His skin is positively grey, and nothing we’ve done has gotten the slightest response.” Joe Geller turned away, clearly frightened, confused. “Why are you being so sanguine about this? And why won’t you allow the doctor to be called?”

“I told you why, Joe.”

It was late Sunday afternoon; the night before, Croghan and Cian had come in at about ten thirty. Cian, while appearing quite tired, had nonetheless looked normal. But he hadn’t showed up for breakfast, and when one of the other boys had been sent to check on him, he’d come running back downstairs in a state of extreme agitation, shouting that he thought Cian was either terribly sick or terribly dead.

Mr. Geller had sprinted up to the boy’s room where he’d found Cian lying on his back in bed, unresponsive to being shaken, yelled at, pulled, his skin cold and ashen. Water was dripped on his face, but nothing – no reaction whatsoever. Geller was about to take out his cell and call 9-1-1, when another boy had come up to the room to tell him a Mr. Croghan was there to see him. He’d gone to the top of the stairs and called down into the foyer for his friend to join him.

To the social worker’s amazement, Gerald Croghan had only stared at the boy for a few minutes, frowning, put a hand on Cian’s forehead, and stood back, arms crossed. Then he’d told Geller to let him sleep, that he was experiencing a psychological episode – or something like that, which was incredibly vague, and which Joe hadn’t heard of before. But he’d never known his friend to be reckless, especially with someone else’s life, or wrong about anything. So he’d helped him get Cian under the covers (a sleeveless undershirt and boxers were hardly cozy winter sleepwear) and they’d let him be for the rest of the day. Now it was getting dark, and the boy hadn’t even changed his position. Croghan had made a few phone calls, but had stayed in the house, checking on Cian from time to time.

That was all the other man had done, and Joe was getting more than a little upset. “You did, but – ”

“Wait.” Croghan raised a hand for silence, and then, “Ah. There.”

Geller turned around again and stepped closer to the bed. Cian still hadn’t moved, but some color had begun to return to his face. A few minutes later, the boy took a deep breath and rolled onto his side, his back to them. Geller shook his head, astounded.

Croghan went around to the other side of the bed and sat down. He put a hand on the boy’s quilt-covered shoulder, and giving him a gentle shake said something in another language. A moment later, Cian murmured a few words back in the same tongue; Croghan nodded, satisfied, and got to his feet. “He’ll sleep normally now. Probably won’t wake up until the morning, but that’s good.”

“It is? Wh-well what happened to him? You promised earlier to elaborate on your theory, or whatever it is, and I’m still waiting.”

The Croghan looked away for a moment, jaw set, then replied, “When a person has experienced the kind of extreme cruelty that Cian has, every once in a while the mind... shuts down. Uh, a kind of living nightmare takes over and the person is completely unable to, er, come back, or fight past it – at least not for a long time. But eventually, the mind being the resilient thing it is, recognition of reality ‘powers up’ the paralyzed logic circuits, as it were, and the person slips back into REM sleep. And then he simply wakes up. In Cian’s case, the episode was so intense, it’s left him more tired than he was when it started, so now he has to sleep it off.”

“Wait – if he was having this really awful nightmare, wasn’t he already in a REM state?”

“No. This kind of dream goes much deeper into the psyche, which is why it’s so hard to escape.”

Joe nodded, almost understanding this somewhat bizarre explanation. “Okay. By the way, what language were you two speaking?”

“Gaelic.”

“He knows another language?” No one had told him the boy was bi-lingual.

“Actually, he knows six or seven, but he’s only really used English and Gaelic extensively throughout his life. Most of the others are ancient, so while he could probably still read them, I’m not sure he can converse in them anymore. Well!” Croghan ended brightly, “I have lots of things to do that I’m afraid I’ve had to neglect today, so I’ll be taking off.” He patted his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about Cian – he’ll be fine.” He turned to go, then turned back, “Oh, and don’t pester him about the language thing. It tends to bring back some rather sad memories.” He grinned and opened the door. “See you!”

And he went out, leaving Joe Geller gaping.

 

*******

 

Feeling like a store-window dummy, Katie Grandol stared at herself in the mirror. Dresses had never been her thing, even when she’d been small and her mother had put cute little lacy pink frocks on her when they were going out. For some reason, they bothered her. Babies have rarely been known to rebel against fashion, but Katie had. Within the first few minutes of being assaulted by a fluffy dress, the infant Katie had somehow managed to ruin it – by spitting up in amazing quantities, falling into the toilet, or dumping food on it – and had smiled happily as her poor mother, groaning with disappointment, had been forced to remove the offending garment.

Yet here she stood in Celeste Kelly’s bedroom, beholding herself in a delicate blue velvet dress with flowing green chiffon sleeves and a narrow, ice-green lace border around the neckline. At least it wasn’t pink.

“You look really, really beautiful!” Celeste exclaimed. “Your blonde hair is perfect with that shade of blue and the whole thing brings out your eyes – how could you not like it?”

Katie sighed, mildly disgusted, but not wanting to hurt her best friend’s feelings. “I don’t know; I guess I’m, like, so not used to seeing myself in a dress.”

“Well, I think you look incredible.” Celeste grinned and shouldered Katie out of the way so she could use the full-length mirror to finish putting up her hair. She had no problem with pink, but since everyone kept telling her it clashed with her reddish-gold hair, she’d resigned herself to wearing various shades of teal, pale greens, aqua, navy blue, black and grey, confining her pink-fix to night clothes and underwear only.

Eileen Kelly came to the open door, knocked once, and went in. “Are you girls ready yet?” she asked, taking in the unusual sight of Katie in a dress. “Wow, Katie! You really clean up nicely!”

“Uh-ha. . .uh-ha. You are so amusing, Mrs. K.”

Chuckling, the woman turned away, saying over her shoulder as she went out, “We’re leaving in five minutes – please be downstairs by then.”

Celeste put the last of the clips in her hair. “Okay, ready? Let’s go.”

When they were halfway down the stairs, Katie stopped. “Hold on. Do I have to wear a hat? I mean, are they, like, required in Church?”

“Not any more.”

“Good, ’cause hats – well, that would have been too much.”

Under normal circumstances, Katie spent her Sundays doing very little. Her family, unlike Celeste’s, had never been into the whole church thing except for a few years when she was younger. The Kellys, on the other hand, were devotedly Catholic, and wouldn’t dream of missing Mass – even after a Saturday like the one they’d had the day before.

Earlier in the week, Katie and Celeste had encountered the most amazing-looking young man they’d ever seen. The next day he’d showed up in class, introducing himself as Cian MacDara, and thus had begun the strangest sequence of events they’d ever experienced. It began in earnest with all the girls in school (including the female teachers of all ages) stumbling over themselves at the mere sight of this new boy. The next day, during a conversation with Cian after school, Celeste had suddenly found herself able to speak Gaelic without ever having understood a word of it before that moment. Perhaps strangest of all was that despite this boy’s looks, he turned out to be sweet, kind-hearted, soft-spoken…the opposite of what one might expect of someone that beautiful.

Meanwhile, Celeste’s father had purchased a harp, and during Celeste’s first lesson on Saturday, Cian had appeared at her door claiming to know the harp teacher. The rest of day had then been consumed by epic story-telling by both the harp teacher and Cian. This teacher, they learned, was a real bard who, like Cian, came not only from Ireland, but also from another century in the distant past.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, Celeste had begun to fall deeply in love with Cian, who had – at Katie’s prompting – realized his own feelings toward Celeste.

As a result of these unusual events, this Sunday was not normal. At the end of this bizarre day, Katie had been allowed to spend the night at Celeste’s, and was now going to church with the Kellys. Not a bad thing, really, since it had been decided that she, too, would be part of Celeste’s destiny with Cian and would probably be going to someplace called the Hub of Time. There she would meet an angel, and it had occurred to Katie that being able to say she’d been to church might be a good thing.

A normal Sunday for the Kellys included going to the stores after Mass, followed by a leisurely dinner out. But Mr. Croghan, the harp teacher, was supposed to come by at about two o’clock to take the girls to the Hub. So instead, they stopped after church for a quick lunch before heading home. Tara, Celeste’s little sister, had been sent to her friend Nadine’s house the day before. Her parents didn’t know where all this business with harpers and angels and Hubs was going, or if perhaps this man Gerald Croghan was some kind of lunatic. So as good parents, they’d kept Tara out of it and she had met them at church with Nadine’s family.

When they came in the door at one forty-five, the house phone was ringing; it was Mr. Croghan telling them he couldn’t make it at two, and wasn’t sure when he could.

“What’s wrong?” asked Eileen, who had gotten the phone.

“Cian isn’t, uh, he isn’t feeling well, so I wanted to be with him for a bit until he got better.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Kind of a long story, actually. I’ll try and get there at some point this evening if everything is all right, and I’ll explain it then.”

“That’s fine. Tell him we hope he feels better.”

“I – sure. I’ll tell him. Thanks for understanding, Mrs. Kelly.”

After hanging up, she stood still for a moment, tapping the floor with one foot, hands on her hips. That had been a very odd conversation, she thought.

“Mom?” It was Tara. “You look upset.”

“Hmm? Oh. No, honey, I was thinking about something.” Looking at her younger daughter, it occurred to her that maybe it was a good thing Mr. Croghan had cancelled. Considering how unbelievably unreal things had gotten the day before, she had to wonder what his presence in their house would bring this time.

“Is everything okay?” asked Celeste.

“Fine. Everything is fine. However, Mr. Croghan won’t be here this afternoon as planned. Seems Cian is ill, so I’m guessing he’s helping…whoever….take care of him? I really don’t know.” She sighed. “That man can be awfully cryptic.”

Katie and Celeste exchanged a glance, then pounded up the stairs to Celeste’s room. They secured the door from any incursions by Tara and – while Katie got out of the dress and into a pair of Celeste’s older jeans, a cable-knit white pullover and some warm shoes and socks – tried to figure out what could have happened to Cian. They concluded, and rightly so to a certain extent, that the retelling of his painful past had taken its toll on him.

Because it was Sunday, Katie had to go home after dinner, so she was no longer there by the time Mr. Croghan finally arrived. If his welcome from the Kellys wasn’t as exuberant as it had been the day before, it was at least more familiar. He was shown into the family room where Tara and her father were watching television.

No sooner had he taken a seat in one of the easy-chairs, than Tara got out of hers and went to him.

Arms folded across her chest, she demanded to be told what was going on. “Nobody is telling me anything,” she complained, “but I know something happened that wasn’t normal. I mean, most music teachers give their lessons and then leave, but instead, I had to leave, and now you’re back here again, and – and that’s weird! So what happened?”

Donal Kelly turned off the TV as she was speaking, and came to her side. “You’re being extremely rude to our guest, Tara.”

She frowned at him. “Celeste said the same thing yesterday about that Cian personohmygoshwho is he?!”

“You were rude to him yesterday, too?” Her father looked horrified.

“What? No! I only wanted to look at him some more. OMG! Where is he from? Is he even a normal person? Because normal people really don’t look like that!”

“TARA!” Mr. Kelly and Celeste shouted simultaneously, the older Kelly girl having entered the room in time to hear sister’s breathless rush of words.

“Fine.” Tara threw her hands up, her face a ferocious scowl. “Leave me out of everything. I’m too young, right?” She switched to a mocking, high-pitched voice that was supposed to be an imitation of one or both of her parents. “Don’t worry, Tara. When you get older you’ll understand. Blah, blah, blah,” she added in her own voice, left the room and went upstairs, stomping all the way as if to make sure everyone knew how angry she was.

Croghan, one eyebrow raised, said, “Never did give me a chance to answer.”

“Should I be glad of that?” asked Donal dryly.

Croghan chuckled. “Very possibly.”

Celeste took the chair opposite him and sat forward, her eyes wide with concern. “What’s wrong with Cian?”

It didn’t take a psychologist to interpret the girl’s expression – he could see he was right about how quickly she had committed her heart to the boy. “Yesterday was hard for him, child. He told us many things about his life, and I filled in what I could, but none of what either of us said even begins to touch on how horrific his experiences were, or how deeply they affected him. So the telling, even in part, reopened many wounds, making him more vulnerable than usual.”

“And that made him sick?”

“No, it exposed him to attack.”

“What are you talking about?” Donal sounded alarmed.

“Not a physical attack,” the Croghan said, “a spiritual one. Remember Moloch, the evil being that pursued the boy’s ancestor?”

“Yes,” said Celeste, “and you said it was going to kill Cian after making him su-suffer – ” She stopped as her voice caught.

“That’s right.” He wanted so very much to take away the sorrow he saw spring up in her eyes. “Because the boy’s mind was opened by all that was said yesterday, that evil bastard was able to enter his thoughts and dreams as he slept and it pulled him into what you’d call a comatose state. I’ve no idea what kind of confrontation they had, only that it must have been extremely wearing on Cian who has never directly faced such a being before.” He sat back and sighed. “But I’m thinking this might actually have been a blunder on Moloch’s part; he’s shown his hand, and now Cian has a far better idea what he’s up against, making it that much easier to train him for battle.”

Celeste nodded then sat straighter. “And when can you start training me?”

“I was supposed to start today, as you know, but – ”

“But nothing,” she said firmly. “I want to start right now. Let’s get the Harp and do this.”

“Do what?” asked Eileen from the doorway.

Celeste stood. “I want him to train me on the harp right now, Mom. I don’t think we can wait.”

Eileen raised an eyebrow. “Okay. And what about Katie? Isn’t she supposed to be included?”

“We can pick her up on the way.”

“On the way where?”

“To wherever he took Dad last night to get to the Hub. I mean, I really doubt he’s going to try teaching me anything here with Tara upstairs and all, right?” She looked back at Croghan, questioning.

“Seems you’ve got this all figured out,” he said, controlling a smile.

“No, but I’m pretty sure you do.”

He had, in fact, been planning to do this anyway, so he gave her parents a shrug. “May I assume this is fine with the both of you?”

“May we assume we’ve really no choice?” Donal asked.

Nodding, the Croghan stood. “The girl’s right. We must start immediately.” Something told him he would have gotten more resistance from the family had he suggested it, and was secretly relieved it had seemed like Celeste’s idea.

The ride to Katie’s was silent, but when they pulled up in front of her house, Croghan asked, “How exactly do you feel about Cian?”

Celeste shook her head, exasperated. “Everyone keeps asking me that,” she said grumpily. “Well, Katie asked. But why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re still very young – too young to be forming any kind of permanent attachments to members of the opposite sex.”

“I see. Thanks, ‘Dad’. Look, all I know is that every time I’m around him, I have a hard time catching my breath, okay?” She got out of the car and practically ran to Katie’s side door – like the Kellys, they rarely used the front.

Mrs. Grandol answered her frantic knock. “Celeste? What on Earth are you – come in. What are you doing here on a Sunday evening? And what’s the matter? I thought it was the police the way you were banging on the door.”

“Sorry. Nothing’s wrong. I need to borrow Katie for a little while – something we needed to do earlier but didn’t get around to. I’m learning something new and need her help.” She had no intention of lying to her friend’s mother, but knew the woman would assume she was referring to schoolwork.

“She’s upstairs. Promise you won’t get her back too late, okay? She’s such a grouch in the morning.”

“No problem. Hi, Mr. Grandol!” she added as she sped past him through the hallway and up the stairs, not waiting for a response.

Instead of a chronically nosy little sister, Katie had an older brother who pretty much left her alone on the rare occasions when he was home, and a much older sister who was married and living elsewhere. Unlike Celeste, therefore, she rarely worried about privacy and her bedroom door was normally ajar, like it was now. Celeste smacked the doorframe, impatience causing her to stand on tiptoe, one hand playing with the bottom button of her jacket as she waited for Katie to turn away from her computer.

“Celeste?! Why’re you, uh. . . do you have to go to the bathroom or something?”

“No! Katie – ” she rushed into the room and tugged her friend out of the chair. “Cian was attacked by that demon thing, which is what the Keeper was talking about when he told Mom he was sick, and we’re going to the Hub so I can start learning the songs because the sooner I do, the sooner I can help him. Come on!”

“Slow down! You sound like freaking Tara! You talked to my Mom already? What did you tell her?”

“The truth – that I need to borrow you to help me with something I have to learn.”

“The truth. Clever. I take it she’s okay with me leaving?”

“Not at all, Katie. I’m going to kidnap you right under her nose. Don’t be a dweeb! Of course it’s okay! Hurry up!”

Rolling her eyes, Katie pried herself away from her friend’s grasp and ran down the stairs behind her. Grabbing her jacket from the closet she yelled, “Okay, Mom! I’m leaving – be back soon!” She gave Celeste a slight frown and whispered, “I will be back soon, yes?”

Celeste let out a groan of frustration and grabbed her friend’s arm again, dragging her out to the Jaguar.

“What’s up, Mr. C?” asked Katie after getting in. “I hear we’re going to the Hub, right?”

“Think you’re ready to meet an angel?”

“Well, I did go to church today.”

He looked at her in the rearview mirror to see her wearing a perfectly serious expression, so he refrained from laughing. What a funny kid. . .

When they got to the seaport, the parking lots were not yet empty. Some maintenance workers were still there to clean up from the day’s influx of tourists and class trips; even in the colder months, the museum attracted quite a crowd.

He pulled into the space closest to the main entrance, turned off the car, and opened his door. “Come along, ladies.”

They got out, shivering a little in the sea air, and followed him through the gate. A security officer who was finishing his check of one of the buildings walked over to them. “Sorry, folks, we’re closed for the day.”

Croghan smiled. “Oh, we’re not here to sight-see. The Curator, Jefferson Carver, is a good friend of mine – he asked me to get something for him from the Figurehead Building.” He held out a key with a paper tag attached, the word “Figureheads” clearly printed on it.

The guard nodded at the two girls, whose teeth had begun to chatter. “You need them to get whatever it is?” he asked, his tone vaguely suggestive.

“What are you saying sir?” the Croghan demanded, picking up the not-so-subtle innuendo in the man’s tone. Something in his own made the guard back up.

His expression changing to one of feigned outraged innocence, the man declared, “N-nothing! I – I mean, we usually don’t have people going into the buildings after closing time, is all.”

The Croghan continued to stare coldly, and when the guard seemed sufficiently intimidated, added brusquely, “You can of course call Mr. Carver if you need confirmation,” and walked away, Katie and Celeste following.

“Wait – was he implying what I think he was?” Katie asked, incredulous.

“Ew, that’s disgusting!” Celeste agreed.

Croghan sighed. “Some people are so bored with life, they have to invent things to make it more interesting.”

When they reached the building that housed the figureheads, Croghan unlocked the door, ushering them inside. The heat had been turned off recently enough that it was still nice and warm.

“So what now, Keeper person?” Katie, hearing herself, thought, “‘Keeper person?’ Wow. I must be more tired than I thought!

With a quiet chuckle, he led them into one of the side galleries where some of the less ancient figureheads were kept in glass displays.

“Why are these so small?” Celeste asked, curious. “The ones out in the main room are massive.”

“Shipbuilders and sailors eventually realized how much the large figureheads were slowing down the ships and throwing off their balance, so they began making them a more reasonable size or eliminating them altogether,” Gerald explained. He bent down and lifted a brass ring in the floor, which turned out to be the handle of a trap door. A thick wooden ladder leading to a lower level was barely visible in the dim recessed ceiling lights.

“Down there?” Katie sounded unhappy. She wasn’t claustrophobic, but small dark holes in unknown places didn’t exactly thrill her.

“Sorry. Yes.” He went first and switched on a series of lights. When the girls reached the bottom, they found themselves in a storage area with wooden crates lined up in such a way that they formed what looked like a maze. He led them through quickly, stopping at a crate that was much taller and wider than the others, and that had been placed flush against one of the walls.

Raising his hands, he began to sing quietly in a language that neither of them knew – it certainly wasn’t Gaelic this time. A few seconds later, the crate turned a shimmering golden color, dissolving into droplets of the same gold, the droplets themselves becoming a lovely golden mist. The Keeper lowered his hands and held them out by his sides; Katie took one, Celeste the other, and together they walked through the gold curtain.

They were immediately surrounded by a thick greyness. Katie looked behind them, but only a darker grey patch showed where the gold curtain had been. Ahead stretched a path that fit Cian’s description from his story told the day before of his own first entry into the Hub: soft ashen pathway, with tall curtains of some indefinable material reaching upward on either side. Since neither girl felt like speaking, they continued to cling to the Keeper’s hands and traveled in awed silence. It was, as they’d been told, impossible to tell how long they had been walking, but at some point the feeling of the air around them changed, and they sensed its source was music. Shortly after this, they saw in the distance a gleam of emerald which eventually clarified into the hill, atop which sat something made of blue-gold-white light.

Celeste glanced up at the Keeper and saw that he was smiling, then leaned forward to peer around him at Katie, who was doing the same thing, and met her gaze. They almost giggled, but somehow couldn’t. They were within shouting distance of the Hub of Time – a place not on Earth, but connected to it. And Celeste knew somehow that she’d been destined for this place her whole life.

TWO

 

Upon reaching the hill, they walked around to the front and climbed up, still holding the Keeper’s hands. As soon as they crested the top he stopped, but Celeste, releasing his hand, kept walking until she stood directly in front of the shimmering being sitting and playing her harp.

Celesta placed the harp on the grass beside her, a smile of brilliant joy on her already blindingly beautiful features. She leaned forward, gathering the girl into her arms.

“My Celeste,” she whispered happily. “At last.”

Celeste began to weep, but her tears were those of relief, joy, and cleansing of her heart as the peace this creature represented washed lovingly over her. Now, finally, she knew that what had been happening to her, like all those inexplicable visions that had snatched her out of reality throughout her life, was not only real, but good. In a long, incredible instant, she remembered every dream, every vision, every gem of knowledge that had been given to her over the span of her sixteen short years, but which had been forgotten the second they were over.

She saw the village where the Druids were holding their court of justice, and the lovely little town that had been the ancestral home of the Kelly clan. Magnificent vistas in parts of the world she’d not yet visited and perhaps never would, and the blue-clad young man who had told her about the silver string of the Harp, all returned to her memory. She knew, too, that if she so chose she could both think and speak in fluent Gaelic any time she needed or wanted.

And the music! It was all there, waiting deep in her heart for her hands to bring it forth on the strings of the Keeper’s instrument. She hugged the angel back and never wanted her to let go.

Since this was the Hub of Time, they could well have stayed that way virtually forever, but urgency had pulled the fabric of Time very tight indeed. With a great reluctance of her own, Celesta released the girl and looked deep into her eyes. “Are you prepared for your task, sweet child?” she asked tenderly. “Do you know what you must do, and why, and the dangers it may involve for you?”

Still dazzled but starting to think in more mortal terms once more, Celeste said, “I need to learn the music, kind angel. And while I think I know what I am to do, I still need to be told more about it before I can honestly say I’m prepared. As for the danger, the Keeper told me some of what happened to Cian, but please tell me the rest?”

Celesta looked past the girl to where the Keeper and Katie stood. She beckoned to Celeste’s friend, who walked slowly forward, awed beyond belief at what she was seeing. When she drew close, she looked up at Celesta, into her gleaming sapphire eyes, and her own filled with tears, but from what emotion she couldn’t have said.

“Lovely, loyal Katie,” whispered the angel, touching the girl’s cheek with one elegant finger. “How blessed is our Celeste to have such a friend. We had not planned for you to come here, but your heart knew better than our minds what was right, and I welcome you gratefully.” She gave Katie a slow, loving hug that filled the girl with an almost giddy sense of happiness, then pulled back and kissed her on the top of her head.

“Will I be able to help her?” Katie asked hoarsely, her voice seeming to have wandered off down one of the paths.

“As only you can. You shall be her Attendant, lovely child. And now – Keeper. Please sit with us. We have much to discuss.”

It was decided that Celeste would be taught the Songs of Light and the purpose of the silver harp string. For now, she would learn on another harp Croghan often used, but when the time came, she would use the Harp he had once carried in his travels and which he’d brought with them from Connecticut. This puzzled him, for he had thought the girl would play the one he normally used to keep back darkness. The other Harp was the instrument with which he’d been presented upon finishing the extremely difficult schooling that made him an official Bard so very, long ago. It was a magnificent instrument, but when he was appointed Keeper, the angels had made him a gift of the other one, so he’d assumed it was that harp which contained all the power.

Guessing the source of the man’s slight frown, Celesta asked all of them to make themselves comfortable on the soft grass while she told them a tale.

 

*******

 

“One cannot go farther back than the Beginning,” she began. “But since then, more things have been done and said, created and made, than any of you can possibly imagine. Yet weaving in and out of everything from that Beginning was music in some form or another. My Glorious Lord invented it and gave the knowledge of how to construct instruments that would bring forth its voice in different ways.

“Now, not all men understood the nature of my Creator, nor His power, nor the power of sounds. But some there were and always will be with a great love of music and how to produce it easily. Among them have been those who worshipped gods that were not alive, that simply did not exist. Still, these humans were inspired to write and perform astounding and beautiful works of music in praise of these gods. Some even began schools in which those of a quick mind and wit would learn to play and sing, to compose and to memorize hundreds of verses. It was in one of these schools that the Keeper was educated. His teacher was a man known as Taliesin, and it was Taliesin who made the Keeper’s Harp. In fact, Celeste, it was he who told you about the silver string.

“The Keeper himself came from a time much earlier than the days of Taliesin; he traveled from far away with a group of people to whom war gave joy, but even they needed their story-tellers so others and descendants would know of their victories. The Keeper was one of these. When they came to the place now known as Britain, and eventually Ireland, he was still relatively young and could yet be taught many things. My Lord saw his heart, saw that it was not filled with the joy of blood lust, that in fact, he longed to do only good for those around him and was deeply saddened by the knowledge that he could not.

“I was sent to him in his dreams and showed him where to find me, how to use his ability as a Druid to come through the wall at the place you call Newgrange and thus enter the Hub. Like you, he walked in silence until he found me here, waiting. I offered him what you would call a job, one like no other offered to a mortal before then. You see, the darkness and evil that has ever strained to possess this place had always been kept away by various of my kind, but now had been found one who might, of his own free will, choose to be the Keeper in our stead. To help him, we brought him forward in time to when Taliesin lived and made his music, and Croghan became his best student. He loved our Croghan and wanted to give him his own seat of authority at the head of the school when it was time for him, Taliesin, to leave this life. But Croghan told him the truth, and while saddened, Taliesin determined to help as much as he could. Because his heart, too, was open to the Glorious One, another like myself was sent to show Taliesin how best to serve Croghan in his mission. He was told to make him a harp, one with strings of purest gold, but the middle string had to be of the finest silver, tried seven times, and the wood to be strong ash stained dark to look like mahogany.

“Honored by this commission, Taliesin crafted this harp exactly as required, putting into it his love for Croghan; then, when he was done, he was told to leave it outside the door of his chambers until morning. During that night, the strings were given a special resonance; their vibrations became voices of eternity that could act like strong bars to hold back any and all that were evil.

“And what of the silver string? Ah, that was to be used at the very end of the greatest Song of Light – all but one of the Songs of Light were known by the angels, and were eventually taught to our new Keeper, but the most powerful has been reserved until now. It will be taught to me and I shall teach it to you, Celeste. You see, the golden strings contain the voices of the angels themselves, but the silver string resonates in perfect parallel harmony with the Voice of Glory. There is no creature in Heaven or Earth that can resist it; it melts darkness and banishes evil, while giving life and light to the one who plays the Song and to the one for whom it is sung.

“But now I must tell you the rest. Taliesin waited until Croghan had completed all the tests that would make him a true Bard, then presented him with the harp. We had told this man that once Croghan left, his name was never again to be spoken, for his identity had to be hidden for as long as possible. He had to be established at the Hub, taught, trained, and prepared for the work he was chosen to do. For not only did he play back the darkness, he also, as you now know, escorted certain individuals through the various Doors. He did not age while he was playing on this hill, but whenever he re-entered the world of humans, he progressed in age like everyone else. Eventually, we offered to…to change him so he would remain the same forever. He chose an age at which he would be content to stay, and the day he reached it, the change was made complete.”

She paused, gathered her hair back with one hand in an oddly human gesture, pulling the shimmering strands off her shoulders and releasing them to cascade down her back, then sat straighter before continuing.

“Ever have there been those evil ones that have tried to make incursions into the Hub,” she went on, “but the faithfulness of the Keeper who guards the Doors and thereby maintains the balance of Time has never been seriously challenged – until the day that Cian’s ancestor defied his god so. . .unexpectedly. As you have been told, there exist evil ones who disguise themselves as gods, and who can influence those who worship them to do that which is almost as evil as they. Cian’s ancestor, as one of these people, was influenced by one of the most powerful and vile spirits that ever existed, one who answers to no other spirit but the ultimate Evil One. Defiance by this weak human was so shocking to that hideous being that he became filled with rage and determination to make an example of the man. So he pursued him across space and time, but the Keeper always kept the man a step or two ahead.

“Eventually, ignorance in the world began to be replaced with knowledge, and the gods were no longer considered living beings. Instead, people either worshipped the God of Abraham and His own Son, or they worshipped things like power, wealth, their own bodies, their own intelligence, even, as in Celeste’s time, their vehicles! How silly humans can be!”

“Uh-oh – Dad’s in trouble,” Katie muttered.

Celesta smiled at this interruption, and then continued, her expression growing serious once more. “In spite of this, that greatest of the evil ones whose name I refuse to speak – it is not worthy of being named – found the last of the priest’s line. It had already killed Cian’s older brothers with a fever that should have healed, but although its main appetite was for the very, very young, yet it spared Cian, thinking it would be easier to harm him at some later point. I knew of this plan, and determined to counter it with one of my own, so I went to my Glorious Lord, who agreed with what I had devised. This spirit had to be put in its place once and for all, kept out of the Hub forever, and left useless and scattered in a world that no longer practiced human sacrifice. And if it tried to resurface to do any more harm, it would be banished to the outer darkness until the Time of the Burning Sea.

“For this, one was needed whose victory over it would mean the most, and be the most humiliating. Any of the other descendants of this priest might have been called upon, but none of them had the right heart, the right kind of strength, characteristics which only appeared in this last of his line, Cian MacDara. But like the Keeper, he would need someone to assist him with the Songs of Light, to play the final, most powerful of the Songs at the end of the battle when the boy would be the weariest and in greatest need of help. I know the outcome, for my Lord has told me, but I must not tell you or him, for to do so could possibly change what should be, whether for bad or good.

“Katie, dear Katie, you, too, have a work to do. Celeste will herself grow weary throughout this confrontation, and must be kept from becoming discouraged. The evil will do all it can to cause her to stop playing, to give up in despair. Only you know her well enough and love her deeply enough to prevent this. I trust what I have explained answers your questions about the danger. Neither of you can afford to forget the gravity of these things, or underestimate the power against which you must all prevail.

“Keeper, we have another job for you when this begins. But for now, we must teach Celeste how to release the Songs which are already living inside of her so she may play them until they are as familiar to her as her own hands.”

The angel stood and indicated with a wave that Celeste should take her seat on the stone. The girl hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat, then sat down, surprised to find it quite comfortable.

“Keeper, your student awaits,” Celesta said and – to Katie’s utter astonishment – sat on the grass on Katie’s left side.

I’m sitting next to an angel! I can’t believe this! The girl swallowed the shriek of joy and disbelief creeping up her throat, and gave Celesta a tight smile.

The Keeper stood and from the other side of the stone, picked up a lovely harp of crystal and rosewood. He had Celeste adjust the instrument properly on her shoulder, and the lesson began. First, she learned that:

Each string had a name.

Each name had a meaning.

Each meaning had a sound.

The order in which the strings were played and the melody that resulted formed a musical soliloquy when unchallenged, a commandment when defied, an irrefutable law when accompanied by words.

Each Song without words released Light from the invisible end of the spectrum, and contained controlled, specific power.

Each Song with words released double the power of those without.

Altogether, there were 490 Songs of Light, half of which had words; as of now, 489 of them were known.

Then he taught her the names of the strings, one by one, making sure she had committed each to memory before moving on to the next. Once this had been accomplished, he taught her the meaning of each string, and finally, the sound associated with every string’s name and meaning.

Had they been anywhere on Earth, this lesson alone would have taken at least a week. But the Hub, while connected to it, existed outside of Time, so nothing moved forward. This was the paradox of the Hub, something the Keeper couldn’t explain to either of the girls because he frankly didn’t understand it fully himself. Celesta understood, but with an inner sense that was impossible to relate in words. At that point, Celeste was too absorbed in learning and Katie on grasping as much as she could, for either of them to consider the complexities of Time and the Hub.

Next, Celeste was instructed in hand placement, the proper plucking and strumming techniques, glissandi, and other technical aspects of the actual playing.

After this, she learned how to use the strength in her hands and arms to produce various dynamics of sound so that she could play so softly that the notes were barely discernible, so loudly that the instrument sounded like two, and every dynamic in between.

Finally, the Keeper gave her a simple melody to play and told her to hum along with it.

“I – I don’t think I’m much of a singer,” she said apologetically.

“Well, now, I didn’t ask you to sing, Celeste – I asked you to hum.”

The girl shrugged, played the melody first on the harp alone, then repeated it, humming. Her voice was actually quite pleasant; it had a sweet, light timbre with a silvery shimmer to it that blended beautifully with the sounds of the strings. It was, in short, the quintessential female Irish voice.

Katie, who had been thoroughly enjoying herself, applauded quietly when her friend finished singing. “You sound really good,” she said, meaning it. “I didn’t realize you could sing like that.”

Turning her head so she could look at Katie past the harp, Celeste replied, “Probably because we usually only sing when we’re plugged into our iPods and can’t even hear each other.”

Katie giggled, nodding. “Too true. And – hey, how long have we been here? I mean, I really hadn’t noticed, but now that I think about it, you’ve been learning an awful lot since he started teaching you how to play. And yet,” she held up a finger to emphasize her point, “my butt is so not sore, even though I’ve been sitting in practically the same position the whole time. What’s up with that?”

Celesta drew Katie into a sideways hug. “How I love the way you talk,” she whispered, smiling brightly.

Katie snuggled closer – Cian had been absolutely right: a person couldn’t really say she (or he) had been hugged until that person had been hugged by an angel. It felt like nothing else, and was absolutely wonderful.

The Keeper grinned, remembering the first time he had realized how long he’d been sitting on that stone, yet had physically felt as though he’d gotten there only moments before. “The Hub is a great place,” he remarked. “In Earth time, had we been there instead, these lessons most likely would have taken about two or three weeks straight without a break for her to accomplish all she has. Of course, she’s a very quick study.” He smiled down at Celeste, honestly impressed with her talent. It had taken him somewhat longer, he believed, when Celesta and another angel had begun his tutelage in the Songs of Light, and certainly longer still to learn the harp itself.

Katie pulled herself straight and looked first at the angel and then at the Keeper, her eyes wide with astonishment. “So you’re saying that, basically, we’ve been sitting here for what amounts to like two or three weeks? But – but I’m not hungry, and I haven’t had to go to the bathroom!”

Both the Keeper and Celesta broke into peals of laughter at this. And for the Keeper, at least, it felt really good to laugh.

“What! What did I say?”

Suddenly Celeste doubled over, laughing hysterically.

“Celeste!” Katie exclaimed, slightly indignant.

“I’m sorry,” her friend gasped. “I – ” She laughed so hard this time, there was no sound at all and tears sprang to her eyes.

In spite of her mild ire, Katie started to laugh a little too, even though she had no idea what she was laughing at.

At last, Celeste started breathing again and forced herself to calm down. “With all the Doors in this place,” she got out between chuckles – she really was trying to control herself – “I still doubt you’d find one – one marked…‘Rest Rooms’!” And began laughing once more.

Now Katie’s laugh was as hearty as her friend’s, and she added, “Yeah, and if you went through the wrong one, you’d either get an outhouse – ”

Celeste actually screamed with laughter at that.

“ – or maybe a huge shrubbery!”

At this point, the Keeper and the angel shook their heads, grinning at the girls, and were very, very glad that the Hub existed outside of Time.

 

*******

 

Into the spirit mind of the one called Moloch, its Master spoke angrily. “Your arrogance has very possibly become your downfall,” it hissed. “Had you allowed the boy to remain where he was, he would have become evil; then you could have seduced him, made him think you were a friend, and finally destroyed him easily.”

“But those people were teaching him too much ‘good’ nonsense and the ways of our Enemy,” Moloch whined. “I had to step in before he became powerful with that other Light.”

“ARE YOU DEAF? DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I SAID?”

“I heard.”

“And yet you dare question me?”

No reply.

“Listen, dear Moloch, dear, sweet, cruel Moloch. My dearest and most reliable idiot. Not only did you err egregiously – you do know what that means, do you not? – but you made yet another blunder when you showed yourself to him in his sleeping state.”

“How?”

“How? Hmmmm. How indeed. Because. . .” The silence between them grew tighter, crackling with dry tension, and then. . . “NOW HE KNOWS WHO YOU ARE!” howled the Dark Lord. “HE SEES YOU AS YOU REALLY ARE! HE KNOWS-HOW-TO-STOP-YOU!”

If Moloch had had ears, it would have covered them.

“If you lose your battle with him,” continued its Master in an almost reasonable tone, “I will take great pleasure in opening the portal through which your useless energy will be thrown, so that you may join the other howlers in the outer darkness. And I shall immediately replace you with another.”

The now discomfited demon seethed. “Who? Who can possibly take my place?”

“Does it matter? You won’t be around to see it anyway. Leave me, and try to think of a way to restore the advantage you’ve lost, fool.”

“I don’t –“

“LEAVE ME AT ONCE!!!”

Moloch made what might be described as a disembodied bow of obeisance, and vanished into the darkness to do the Master’s bidding.

THREE

 

Morning sunlight, even filtered by translucent white curtains, was still bright enough to disturb Cian’s sleep. He shifted, stretched, yawned, and opened his eyes. While still rather tired, he felt much better than he had when he’d fallen into bed the night before.

He frowned and sat up. Somehow, it seemed like he’d been sleeping for much longer. He got out of bed, stretching again because now he actually felt stiff and a little achy. As if he’d been in one position for a very long time. The house was extremely quiet, probably because everyone was already at breakfast –

“Oh, no! I’m late!” He went into the hall, grabbing a towel from the linen closet on his way to the bathroom.

As he stood under the stream of warm water, he tried to remember what had happened before he went to sleep. He recalled the Croghan driving him home and telling him not to worry about Mr. Geller’s reaction to his being back so late, and then coming into the house. . .oh, yes. It turned out the two men knew each other well, and Cian was told to go to bed, that he’d been. . .some word Mr. Geller had used that basically meant he’d been pardoned, forgiven, something like that.

He also remembered climbing the stairs and feeling suddenly more exhausted than he’d ever felt in his life, but after that – nothing. Well, maybe something, something about a really bad dream, but he couldn’t bring it to the forefront of his mind, so decided to give up for now. Usually things returned if they were left alone.

His shower done, he dried himself off vigorously in the chilly air – Mr. Geller kept the thermostat at sixty-nine during the colder months to offset the heating costs – then went back to his room, dressed quickly in black jeans and a dark grey cable-knit pullover sweater, and toweled off his hair as he searched for a matching pair of socks. Tomorrow would be laundry day, and he’d worry about pairing them up then. “Here we go,” he muttered, finding two black ones. He threw the towel onto the radiator, sat on the edge of the bed, and put them on. “Where are my . . .ah.” Having found his shoes under the bed, he shoved his feet into them, laced them up, and stood. He was about to leave when someone knocked.

“Come in.”

Mr. Geller opened the door and stood there in silence, frowning at the boy.

“Am I in trouble?” Cian asked. “I’m pretty sure I overslept.”

“Overslept. . .huh. No, it isn’t that. Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh, Sunday?”

“No, Cian. It’s Monday.”

With a look of disbelief, Cian said, “That can’t be right.”

“Well, if it isn’t, then everyone else in the house is wrong, too, and they’re all at school wondering where the teachers and other students are.”

Then Cian remembered the dream, the nightmare, the horrible encounter with a creature so powerful and vile – the recollection caused him to sit, hard, on the chair at his desk.

“Are you okay?” Geller came further into the room, alarmed.

Cian had gone dead white and his heart was racing. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to utilize the breathing techniques they’d given him at the Marcus Institute in Georgia to help with anxiety attacks or other unexpected fears. A moment later, he took a last, deep breath, relaxed, and looked up at Mr. Geller. “Sorry. I suddenly remembered something, um, well, it was a, uh . . .”

“Gerald said you were having some kind of intense nightmare,” Geller offered, seeing the boy’s uncertainty about telling him.

Cian nodded and looked away. “Yeah, you could call it that.” No wonder I felt so achy when I got up!

“Must’ve been one hell of a bad one.” The man, crossing his arms, was gazing down at the boy with deep concern.

“Doesn’t matter.” Cian stood up. “Should I go to school?”

Mr. Geller shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll leave that up to you. Are you feeling well enough?”

The boy thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “I’m fine. But, um, could I maybe have something to eat first?”

“Sure.” Joe Geller smiled openly now. His mother had always insisted that the best indication that the sick were getting better was the return of their appetite.

Forty minutes later, the social worker dropped Cian off in front of the school with an excuse note, telling him to stop worrying about the laundry; he’d gather everything up for the boy, something everyone was supposed to do Sunday night, and put it in the laundry room in the basement for him.

“By the way,” the man called out as Cian started toward the front doors of the school, “whose coat are you wearing, and where is yours?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I left mine at work on Saturday morning.”

“At work? But I thought – never mind. You can explain it to me this afternoon when you get home.”

Cian waved and ran up the steps. He’d already missed first period, but at least it was a class he had no trouble handling. Algebra II was easy for him; History, however, was an entirely different matter, because although he had experienced snippets of historical moments during his life, he’d never been formally taught history in a linear sort of way. In fact, most of it was completely unknown to him, and he still wasn’t sure how to deal with that. At least they’d been studying the Celts, something he did know a little about. Biology, on the other hand…

“Good morning, Mr. MacDara,” exclaimed an inordinately pleased-looking Mrs. Crozier when he entered the science classroom ten minutes later.

“Sorry I’m late.” He handed her the slip they’d given him at the office.

“Not to worry, dear,” she said with a giggle that set the whole class’ teeth on edge.

He gave her a tight smile and turned away, rolling his eyes when he knew she couldn’t see them. Most of the other boys gave him sympathetic grins.

“All right, kids. Last semester we did some serious dissecting and I had you pair up. This term, as you know, we’ll be dealing with cells in the human body. You’ve already done the preliminary work at your desks, but now it’s time to experiment, so I’ll need to pair you up again.”

Almost instantly, every girl spun around, turned sideways, or leaned forward toward Cian, making him want to crawl under his desk. Instead, he looked at the floor, willing himself to turn invisible, which... didn’t work.

“Hey, MacDara – ” It was Tyler, a student who had already proven himself to be a good friend the week before. “I need a lab partner with some intelligence,” he called, coming to the boy’s rescue, and Cian nearly ran back to the lab table where Tyler sat grinning. Groans of disappointment echoed throughout the room.

“I can’t stand this,” Cian murmured through clenched teeth, refusing to look around.

“Okay, the rest of you,” the teacher said loudly, “find partners – right now.”

People got up, desks were shifted, muffled shouts of, “No way! Not with you!” were heard, but finally, after about five minutes of subdued chaos, everyone had found a lab partner and was sitting in one of the chairs at the back lab tables.

If Cian had thought things couldn’t have gotten any worse than they were when he’d first walked into the room, he now realized he’d thought wrong. What is this stuff? He was staring at racks of glass tubes, small covered glass dishes, stacks of small glass rectangles, and an instrument he’d seen depicted in a book, but that meant absolutely nothing to him. His education during the previous seven years had been non-existent, except for semi-private tutoring given by the Georgia foster care system during the ten months before his transfer to Connecticut.

The look on his face must have given away some of what he was feeling because after a moment or two, Tyler smacked him on the arm with the back of one hand. “What’s the matter? You look like someone just handed you a diseased octopus.”

Cian stared at him. “Right,” he said a few seconds later.

Now Tyler looked confused. “Didn’t you have science in your last school?”

“Yes, but not – not like this. I mean, I studied Earth Science and a little geology, but I guess we hadn’t gotten to this stuff yet.”

“You didn’t have to do any lab work?”

Lab work? Like getting my blood drawn and analyzed? “Uh, we didn’t have classrooms that had these – ” he waved at the equipment, “ – in it.”

“So, you never had to dissect a frog.”

“Why would I do that?”

Tyler cracked up. “I love it!” He turned to Jerry Marx, a large boy from gym class. “I asked MacDara if he ever dissected a frog and he said, ‘why would I do that?’!”

Jerry chuckled appreciatively. “Good question!”

“Anything I need to know about?” asked Mrs. Crozier, walking up the aisle toward their table.

“No, ma’am,” said Cian politely. “It was my fault – I’ve never had to do, er, lab work before, and we were, uh, discussing it.”

“I see. Well, let me know if there’s anything at all I can do to help, Mr. MacDara.” She gave him a brilliant smile, stared at him for a few moments, then wandered off back down the aisle as if she’d forgotten why she had been there in the first place.

“Y’know, if you were a girl,” Tyler whispered, “I’d kiss you.”

“What?!”

“I’m kidding.” The other boy grinned. “You’re good to have around sometimes, that’s all.”

The rest of the period was easier – once some things were explained to him, Cian had little or no trouble doing his work, and in fact, found it quite enjoyable. The concept of invisible things was nothing new, but with the aid of the device on the desk (a microscope, Tyler called it) he found he could now see them, and it fascinated him. He learned how to adjust the eye piece, and was astonished by what looked, unaided, like nothing more than a smear of dirt on the glass rectangle (a slide, he was told). Through the powerful lenses of the microscope, however, he saw perfect, beautiful structures, and even some movement of extremely small objects with unique shapes. As a child, this kind of thing would have been relegated to the realm of magic, while here, everyone seemed to know about and practice it, making it almost mundane.

When the bell rang, Tyler gathered his books and told Cian he’d turned out to be the best lab partner he’d had so far. “I knew you were smart,” he said, leaving Cian speechless.

No one – other than social workers, psychiatrists and psychologists – had ever told him that. It felt pretty amazing.

His next class was English II, where he’d once again be dealing with the bizarre Mrs. Farrell, a teacher upon whom he’d had a totally unexpected and rather disturbing effect the week before. The woman had actually spent almost the entire class time flirting with him. When he’d gotten this reaction from girls around his own age, he’d been only mildly discomfited. But Mrs. Farrell had to be at least twenty or more years older than he, and that was disturbing on a whole other level. Well, at least Celeste and Katie would be there. When he arrived at the classroom door, however, he found it blocked by seven or eight girls who had very clearly been waiting for him.

He nearly dropped his books and ran.

“Spider!” shrieked someone behind them in the classroom. “Oh my God, it’s huge!”

Immediately, the girls at the door scattered, screaming hysterically and looking down at their feet while doing a weird kind of dance, flapping their hands at their sides like terrified chickens. Cian looked in through the door to see Celeste standing there, arms crossed, smirking, Katie having nearly collapsed next to her with laughter.

Cian quickly entered, walked up to Celeste, and kissed her soundly on the forehead. “Thank you!”

“You’re quite welcome,” Celeste answered, knowing she could never in a million years have controlled the blush that was warming her face.

One of the female arachnaphobes at the door had cautiously returned in time to catch this exchange, and entered the room, glaring. Katie, meanwhile, had composed herself, and seeing the other girl’s angry expression, stuck her tongue out at her.

Fortunately for everyone, Mrs. Farrell had been in the office making copies, and now, with things having settled down somewhat, she entered the room with an armful of papers. “Seats everyone!”

Only after the rest of the students had gone to their desks did the remaining six or so girls venture back inside, still peering cautiously at the floor.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what is wrong with you girls?”

“Did they get it?” asked one of them.

“Get what, Miss Edwards?”

“The huge spider. Someone said there was a huge spider. . .” her voice trailed off as she caught the looks of disbelief, incomprehension, and – in the case of the one girl who had figured it out – disgust. “What?” she asked, confused. “There wasn’t a spider?”

Everyone choked back laughter.

“Young lady, what in the world are you talking about?”

“I – nothing, Mrs. Farrell.”

“She’s talking about a really stupid practical joke Celeste Kelly played on us at the door,” responded the girl who’d caught her at it. She was furious by now and out for revenge.

“Miss Kelly?” The teacher addressed her, giving the girl her famous I’ve-Got-You-Now look.

“Um.” Celeste gulped, then remembered where she’d spent the equivalent of a month learning things that could hold back the very powers of Darkness. She sat straighter. “These guys were blocking the door so Cian couldn’t get past them, so I said I saw a spider. It worked.” The confidence in her voice and attitude was lost on no one, including Cian.

“My, my,” said the teacher, surprised, it seemed, at the sudden appearance of a backbone in this erstwhile timid student. Then, to everyone’s utter amazement, she smiled. “Good for you, Miss Kelly. Some people simply have no manners and need to be taught a lesson now and again.” That said, she turned away, shutting off further discussion of the matter.

When class ended, Cian made his way to Celeste and Katie as quickly as possible, suspecting they might be the targets of some serious resentment from their more skittish classmates. “May I walk with you to the next class?”

“Sure,” said Katie, enjoying the jealous glares. “In fact, you can even skip if you like.”

“What?”

“Nothing, Cian.” She grinned. “Anyway, we have so much to tell you!”

“You do?”

“By the way,” Celeste interrupted, “how are you feeling?”

Cian stopped, seeming to be genuinely surprised by her question. “You know what happened? How?”

“Well, yeah. The Ke– , uh, Mr. Croghan came by Sunday evening and told us some of what had happened to you. After that, he brought me and Katie to the Hub where I had an incredible lesson. When we finished, Celesta told us more about how you’d been attacked and why and all that.” She looked up at him, deeply, truly unhappy. “It’s very unfair, I think.”

So they’d gone to the Hub….good. He gazed at her for a few minutes, trying to understand how someone so lovely, smart, funny, talented and . . . unique could possibly care that much about him. He looked down, humbled by her attention, and thanked her for her concern.

Around them, students flowed by like water around river rocks, but their sounds didn’t register in either Cian’s or Celeste’s minds. Then, without saying a word, they moved closer and held each other for a long moment. Katie almost cried – it was the most romantic thing she’d ever witnessed.

When they parted, Celeste gave him a sweet smile of contentment. He returned it happily, and they started walking again.

“Ready for that history test tomorrow?” asked Katie, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“What test?” Alarmed, Cian and Celeste had spoken simultaneously.

“Ha! Now you sound like me and Celeste!” she crowed. “Anyway, no test – I was simply checking to see if you guys were still sane.”

“Katie!” Celeste smacked her friend on the shoulder in mock outrage.

Cian laughed quietly, his heart soaring with something he’d never experienced before. He was fairly certain he knew what it was, but he was too afraid to believe in case he was wrong. But no matter – because whatever it was, he wanted to hold on to it for as long as possible and dared not risk its loss by letting anything that might want to harm him or Celeste know what was in his heart.

FOUR

 

Cian came home from school smiling, elated, but when he got inside and heard the thrum of the two washing machines downstairs, reality settled back in. He dashed up to his room to drop off his books before checking on the laundry. After supper, Croghan called and told him that since Celeste’s training was, for the most part, done, it was time for his. He added that he’d be by later that evening, then hung up without further explanation.

Homework, laundry, and his other chores finished, Cian was relaxing in his room trying not to think about Celeste, when the doorbell rang. A minute or so later, one of the younger boys came upstairs and told him someone was there to see him and Mr. Geller in the library. Relieved by the interruption, he headed downstairs, entering the library at the same time as Mr. Geller.

Sliding the double door closed and latching them against intruders, the social worker turned to Croghan, who was putting a book back on one of the shelves. “So what can I do for you, Gerald?”

“I’ve a request with regard to the boy.”

“The boy” was sitting on the sofa by the window, wondering what his mentor would tell Geller this time.

“And what would that be – please sit, Gerald. You look like you’re about to start pacing. . .thanks.”

Making himself comfortable in one of the nearby chairs, Croghan replied, “Well, when our friend here was still in Atlanta under the auspices of the Marcus Institute, it was discovered that earlier in his life he had attended a martial arts school.”

“Oh? And you want him to continue?”

“Well, yes. You see, he did the regular disciplines, but he also had an unusual talent with, er, swords.”

Mr. Geller glanced over at Cian, who was frowning at Mr. Croghan.

“Did he enjoy it?”

“Oh, that he did, Joe, that he did. In fact, I’d very much like to see him continue. It’s a rather healthy sport, and I’m sure he misses it. Am I right?”

Cian nodded, giving the Keeper a narrow stare. I know what you’re up to. Clever man, Croghan. “I do, but actually I’ve continued to practice the movements even without a sword because I didn’t want to forget anything.”

For Joe, the idea of allowing one of his charges to train in the martial arts wasn’t too out of the norm. After all, martial arts had been proven to help youths with troubled pasts find a productive, controlled outlet for their inner turmoil. But the notion of letting him train in swordsmanship was a bit disquieting, between knowing what he did about Cian’s past and contents of a pysch-eval transcript in which Cian had mentioned that he would consider killing his former foster-mother and foster-brother for what they’d done if the law didn’t punish them. Cian’s state of mind was still in question, therefore, at least as far as Joe was concerned. Who knew how far-reaching the effects could be of such a tortured life?

Right now, and as far as Joe could tell, there was nothing in Cian’s demeanor that led him to believe the boy capable of harming someone else, much less committing murder. But wasn’t that the sort of thing one always heard people on TV say after someone went on a killing spree?...I knew the guy—nice as could be. It’s hard to believe he killed thirty people... He gave Croghan a thoughtful stare. “Are you sure this is wise?”

“Believe me, Joe,” Croghan replied, “I know the lad better than anyone at this point. I honestly think it’ll do him a world of good.”

Geller thought about it for a few minutes, then got to his feet. “Would you gentlemen mind if I had a conversation with the head of the Martial Arts Academy first? He’s a good friend whose judgment I trust. Besides, you’ve given me a lot to consider and I won’t be rushed into this.”

Cian and Croghan exchanged a glance, both recognizing and respecting Joe’s concerns, and that his should be the final word on the subject.

“I understand,” said Croghan. He turned to Cian. “Let’s go for a walk while Mr. Geller handles this, shall we?”

Getting to his feet, Cian agreed, and they went out, leaving Joe to sort out this latest challenge.

 

*******

 

Because of what had happened over the weekend – the boy’s unnatural sleep and resulting exhaustion – Mr. Geller had called Cian’s job Sunday night and asked them to please excuse him from his Monday night shift. This would mark only his second week as an employee, but since Geller didn’t know how the boy would be feeling by then, he didn’t want to leave Mr. Halloran short-staffed at the last minute. Cian therefore was free to go with them to the school which, it turned out, was located less than a mile from the house.

After a lengthy discussion with the man who ran the Academy, it had been mutually agreed that Cian might very well benefit from attending, but that nothing would be decided regarding his continued sword training until Mr. Geller had witnessed the young man’s behavior during an introductory session.

A large class was about to start when they walked in; the students were standing in two perfect lines facing their instructor, whose back was to a bank of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Mr. Geller went to the desk and spoke quietly to the man sitting there, going over the schedule book. A few minutes later, he nodded to Geller, got up, and after removing his shoes, walked into the main room where the class was being held. He made a bow as he entered, approached a small man standing by the adjacent wall and whispered something to him. The man leaned over to where he would be visible to Geller and his two guests, and beckoned them forward.

While Geller and Cian knew enough to bow as they entered the room, the only beings to whom Croghan ever bowed were the celestial ones at the Hub. He wasn’t insensitive to worldly proprieties, however, and executed a brief, if somewhat less deferential, bow himself as he entered.

“Joe, glad to see you! And who might these be?”

“This is Gerald Croghan.” Geller indicated the older man with a wave. “And this is one of my foster boys, Cian MacDara.” He turned to them and said, “Gentlemen, this is my good friend, Sifu Chao Liang.” He had pronounced the man’s title “shee-foo.”

Something stirred in Cian’s memory; he let it awaken, then bowed again to the teacher and said, “Hĕn gāo xìng rén shì nìn, Xiānshēng.”

Chao responded, pleased, then caught the look of utter astonishment on Mr. Geller’s face. “He said he was very glad to meet me, Joe, and I told him the honor was mine,” the Sifu translated, smiling. “So, young man, what is it you can do? My assistant says your main interest lies with the jian shu, according to Mr. Croghan, yes?”

“It does, Sifu.”

“And how long have you been practicing with it?”

If Mr. Geller was expecting Cian to say, “not very long,” or, “a little a long time ago,” or some such thing, he was in for another surprise.

“All my life, sir. My father was a swordsman, and began teaching me when I was about two or so. With a wooden sword, of course,” he added with a grin.

“I see. Come with me, please.” Sifu Chao nodded the boy forward and all three followed the instructor into a back room. Here, swords of almost every size, shape and description were hanging on three of the four walls. The man waved at them. “Choose.”

Cian looked for a sword that came closest to what he knew best, and a moment later, pointed to one halfway up the back wall. Chao got a long pole with a complicated-looking prong on the end. “This one? No? Ah, the one beside it.” He took this down, approval in his eyes, and handed it to the boy. “Let us go back into the main room so you can show us what you know. If you made a choice this good, you must truly know how to use it, yes?”

Cian stared at the weapon in his hand, felt its balance, its weight, knew it was straight and true, and nodded. “I do, Sifu. Thank you.”

“This kid is full of surprises, isn’t he!” Geller murmured.

Impressed himself with Cian’s recollection of Mandarin and his unexpected confidence, Croghan nodded. “He certainly is.”

Almost since the day Cian stopped stuttering – one of the more obvious side-effects of six years of abuse – he had returned to his exercises in swordplay. While living as a virtual prisoner in the basement of his foster family’s house in Georgia, he had found an old baseball bat, which he’d carved and sanded into a sword. Even though he’d blocked out many memories of his earlier life, he knew it was important for him to have one of these. Something in his deepest memories recalled the movements, so he’d used this as a way to stay physically strong, while fulfilling a need he didn’t really understand.

Even though he’d left the wooden sword in that house when he was rescued, he found he didn’t need it in order to do the movements. Sometimes, though, when he could get his hands on a push-broom at the Institute, he would practice with that by unscrewing the handle from the brush-head. It was a lot longer than a real sword, but the extra length actually helped him with his balance, and the weight was almost right. When he’d moved into the house in Connecticut the Sunday before, he’d been unable to practice in this manner, so instead did the basic movements in his room whenever he had a few moments.

Now, with a real sword in his hands again, and having finally remembered why using a sword had been so natural and needful, he felt at ease with himself even though others would be watching this time.

Sifu Chao interrupted the class instructor, spoke with him for a moment, then asked his students to please sit on the floor, telling them that they would be watching a demonstration from a practiced swordsman. Cian winced a little at the description, but knew what the man was doing. If he failed, it would be an invaluable lesson; on the other hand, if he did well, the Sifu might allow him to join the school.

Chao bowed to Cian, who had meanwhile removed his shoes and sweater. The t-shirt he had under it would allow him more freedom of movement while providing sufficient concealment for the horrifying tapestry of scars covering his back. The Sifu gestured toward the center of the floor.

Returning the bow, Cian went to stand with his back to the wall of mirrors, closing his eyes. Breathing evenly, he allowed his memories to make their way back into their proper places, relaxing himself as he acknowledged the emergence of each recollection.

He began to move. Slowly at first, he used only his upper body and arms, then took a step and began moving a little faster. Soon, he was executing beautiful arcs and swirls, making the sword twirl and thrust, swing upward then around and down, as he turned and spun, ducked and parried, grace and fluidity in every move both small and grand, until the sword itself was a flashing blur.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw both instructors approach bearing their own swords, and with a smile of pure joy, met their blades with his own, blocking, deflecting, dancing in and away again. Everyone, regardless of whether or not they’d ever observed a display of swordsmanship, could see that this boy and the sword were extensions of each other. When at last SifuChao gave the vocal signal for the demonstration to end, Cian swung his blade upward in a salute, and bowed deeply to both of his opponents. Then he told them in his amazing Chinese that he was humbled and grateful to them for being so kind as to allow a meeting of blades with them. Chao Liang was somewhat overwhelmed by the boy’s honest meekness and unassuming nature, and impulsively pulled him into a brusque hug. Then he patted Cian on the shoulder and thanked him in English.

The class, which until this point had been totally silent as much in awe as with respect for the exchange among the three at the end, burst into applause.

“What do you think, Joe?” asked Croghan over the noise. “I’m quite frankly astonished – I had no idea Cian had retained so much of what he’d learned, and it looked like he has even added to it somehow! Amazing!”

As the applause died down, Mr. Geller looked from Cian to Croghan, appearing to be at a total loss. “Well! I can’t deny he has a lot of ability, Gerald, but – ”

“Look, Joe. If there was any aggression in him, he would have manifested this talent long before now to the sorrow of someone else, I’m sure.”

Chao Liang was approaching them, a broad smile on his face.

“Better make up your mind,” whispered Croghan. “It’s decision time.”

“Joe! You didn’t tell me you had a wonder like this living in your house. Did he recently arrive?”

“Yes, actually – he’s only been here about a week.”

“He is amazing! I have never seen such skill in one so young. I would be honored to have him here as one of my instructors.”

Neither man had seen this one coming and they both gaped.

“Wait, an in-instructor?” Geller stuttered.

“Well, what else could he be, Joe? He has very little left to learn, and in fact, I mean to ask him to show me how to execute a few of those moves!”

“I see. Uh, I – ”

As the other two were speaking, Croghan looked past them to see what Cian was doing. “Oh, no,” he groaned suddenly.

Cian was surrounded by wide-eyed young ladies, none of them saying very much, all of them staring longingly at him. To his credit, he didn’t scream and run out of the room, although the look on his face said that the thought might have occurred to him. The male members of the class were trying to ask him questions, but were having a hard time getting past the women. Finally, as graciously as he could, Cian extricated himself saying it was past his bedtime and he had school in the morning. The men thought this was funny, but the women continued to gape, glassy-eyed, at the heart-stopping features and strong physique of the beleaguered seventeen-year-old.

“That,” he said, when he finally reached the corner where the three men stood trying not to laugh, “was really embarrassing.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Chao, eyes twinkling, “most guys would give anything to get that kind of attention.”

“Well, they can have it,” said Cian. “I’m finally starting to realize that maybe I am good-looking or something, and I have no idea what to do about it.” His desperation was unabashedly honest.

Chao Liang was taken aback. How could this boy not know about his looks? “Cian, my good friend Joe Geller here, has given permission for you to be one of my sword instructors. Does this please you?”

“Sure, I…wait – what?! An instructor? Me?”

“Why so surprised? You nearly disarmed my best instructor during the demonstration, and the last person ever to come close to doing that was me.”

Cian looked at Croghan, shocked, then back at Sifu Chao. “But I have so much yet to learn!”

“Of course you do. So do I. We never stop learning, right?”

Cian nodded as he considered the offer. He had a feeling, if he was reading this man right, that there would indeed be plenty of instruction coming his way. At last, having made up his mind (although he’d have to somehow to fit this in with his job at the Mall), he smiled and bowed. “Thank you, Sifu. I would be deeply honored to help instruct at your school.”

After Cian, Mr. Geller and Croghan left, Chao Liang went to the man at the desk, shaking his head. “I think, Fong, we should prepare for a dramatic increase in female students.”

FIVE

 

Celeste was singing. Not one of the Songs, of course, but something she’d heard somewhere that had a happy melody. And she was setting the table. This was not a usual combination of events, and Eileen stepped out of the kitchen for a moment to watch her. To her surprise, she saw there wasn’t an iPod attached to her daughter’s ear.

Now that she thought about it, she realized that Celeste had looked ridiculously happy when she’d walked in the door after school, and had started that crazy singing as soon as she’d headed up the stairs. “Uh, why so skippity-doo-dah?”

Celeste stopped in the middle of placing napkins next to the forks. “What?”

“Nothing. Your grandmother loved Donna Fargo and…never mind. I was wondering why you were so, um, not full of the usual teenage bummer attitude.”

“Would you rather I be?” the girl asked, resuming her task with a smile.

“Not at all. I guess I’m not used to seeing you so, so elated.”

Celeste laughed. “Okay.” She went back to her chore, ignoring her mother, and started to sing again.

Mrs. Kelly gave up and went back into the kitchen. She knew that what had occurred the previous evening when Celeste and Katie had gone to that Hub had been profound. As difficult as it was for her to wrap her head around the idea of a place where time didn’t move, she couldn’t deny the possibility of it being an actual – if outrageous – fact. All it had taken was her daughter sitting down with the Harp and playing some of what she had learned to convince Eileen that her daughter’s instruction had taken weeks, even if no time had passed in the real world. The amount of knowledge the girl now had could not possibly have been learned during the fifteen minutes she’d been gone.

So also knew her visit to the Hub was not the reason Celeste was flitting about the dining room, joyously singing. It couldn’t be – she’d been excited, yes, but she hadn’t been all over-the-rainbow about it. No. That morning when she’d left for school, Celeste had seemed to be perfectly normal, even a little grumpy at having to get up. What, then, had happened at school?

Then it struck her. Cian. Damn. She remembered now that her husband had told her how concerned Celeste had been about him when she’d learned he wasn’t well, demanding that Mr. Croghan tell her exactly what was wrong.

“Well, I guess Cian must be feeling better,” she concluded aloud, turning on the tap to rinse out the soup pot. Celeste was much, much too young to be getting involved with boys, especially one like him. Oh, she didn’t mind the occasional group date that all the kids went on from time to time, but this boy was making her little girl sing, and she didn’t like it one bit.

The house phone rang. Eileen went to the handset in its holder on the wall – she’d refused to give up their land-lines – and picked it up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Kelly!” exclaimed Gerald Croghan.

“Mr. Croghan!” exclaimed Mrs. Kelly.

“Has Celeste gotten her chores and homework out of the way yet?”

“Why? Are you asking her out on a date?” Puzzled silence followed this remark. “I’m kidding, Mr. Croghan,” she relented. “Yes, Celeste has finished her chores, but she hasn’t had supper yet. Why do you ask?”

“She’s needed at the Hub. Katie and Cian must be there as well. Oh, and she’ll need to bring the Harp.”

“Uh-huh. Fine. But can you tell me first, what is going on between Celeste and Cian?”

“Going on?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

She sighed. Perhaps the Keeper wasn’t capable of spotting a budding teenage romance. “Never mind. Just keep an eye on them for me, okay? And as for her joining you, that’s fine, but only after she’s done with dinner and has finished helping with the kitchen. And I want her home before nine.” She may not have been able to comprehend the workings of the Hub, but had certainly begun to believe in its magical way with Time.

“Yes, madam. Before nine.” He saluted.

“Oh, please! None of that,” she admonished, surprising him. “We’ll see you later.”

Croghan chuckled and hung up. Not having been human for a long, long time, it had taken him a moment to recall that unsettling thing called “woman’s intuition.” One thing he’d never experience, though, was parenthood.

Not ten minutes earlier, his request to take Cian out for a cup of coffee to discuss his new job was met with resistance from Joe Geller, who had reminded Croghan that the young man had school in the morning. Only a promise to get Cian back before nine-thirty had achieved the social worker’s permission. And now, here was Eileen Kelly having the same issue as Joe. He had to remind himself at that point that since Eileen was still new to the concept of how the Hub worked, and Joe knew nothing at all about Cian’s true identity, he couldn’t expect either of them to allow their respective charges to be released to his care without question. Especially not on a school night, heaven forbid!

By eight fifteen, Croghan, Cian, Celeste and Katie were making their way through the maze of crates in the basement of Mystic Museum’s figurehead building. When the four had gone through the seaport entrance this time, the guard hadn’t even given them a second glance.

At the Hub, Celesta stood to welcome them. After making a major fuss over Cian in her joy at seeing him again, she thanked them for coming; they all bowed, and then sat at her feet.

“I see you brought it,” she said, indicating the cloth-covered instrument in Celeste’s arms. “Please come and sit, my Celeste, and play something for me.”

The girl had learned fifty Songs thus far, twenty-five with no words, twenty-five with, and she chose one that had them.

The moment she began to play, she felt and heard a difference. Perhaps it was being in the Hub that did it, because she certainly hadn’t detected this while playing for her mother at home. Yet here, the music felt and sounded different. Croghan’s other harp had a tinkling, almost laughing voice, while this one, she noticed for the first time, had a rich, strong voice that sounded more dramatic, even when played softly. As she sang and played, she closed her eyes and bowed her head; one tendril of red-gold hair slid out of its place and rested, shimmering, against her cheek.

Cian stopped breathing.

Katie, who had turned to see his reaction since he’d missed the whole lesson the night/month before, saw him gaping and punched him lightly on the upper arm.

He started breathing again and turned to scowl at Katie, but ended up giving her a helpless smile.

As Celeste’s sweet voice continued, all three of them could sense a retreat of some kind far down the pathways, as of things moving away from the music. It was the darkness, shocked once again into flight by this new voice that, for all its delicate sound, was incredibly powerful. They’d heard it before during the girl’s first lesson, and hoped never to hear it again.

When the girl was done, Celesta hugged her. “That was perfect! I think you should learn the rest now.”

“Um, seriously? ’Cause that’s, like, three hundred and forty-nine Songs,” Celeste pointed out.

“Yes it is. And while you’re doing that, I must introduce Cian to his instructor who will give him his new Sword.” She picked up her own harp, ran her fingers delicately over the strings, and sang out a name in her silver-gold voice.

The entrance of this angel was every bit as spectacular as Celesta’s, but of the four, only Croghan had ever witnessed the way angels manifested themselves. The impact on the three younger people was thus overwhelming and deep, forever overshadowing any Earthly displays of light they might see in the future.

This angel’s entrance was not exactly like Celesta’s: the colors were different – where Celesta’s were silver, blue and pale gold, this angel’s were deep gold, amethyst, and ruby. When the dance of lights and sparks dissolved, it revealed an extremely tall, powerful-looking man in a bronze armor breastplate over a flowing red-gold robe that looked vaguely oriental. At his back were two crossed scabbards, each holding a large sword. His long hair was nearly the same color as the breastplate, and his eyes glittered amethyst in a strong, handsome face.

The humans watched in awed silence as the angels greeted each other with smiles that were somehow more intimate than a touch; Celesta introduced everyone to him then said, “This is the Archangel Michael, the Warrior of Heaven, defender of the Elect, guardian of the Chosen.”

Katie stared, almost wanting to ask, What – in case we weren’t sure? but she couldn’t seem to find her voice. She may not have been the most faithful churchgoer, but even she knew who Michael was; his entire being exuded power and positive energy, and it was easy to see how he could have led the spiritual armies that successfully kicked who her brother once called “the King of Evil Dudes” out of Heaven.

The Archangel smiled down at Croghan once the introductions were done. “Keeper,” he said in a deep, resonant voice, “how good to see you face-to-face once again.”

“You certainly have been missed,” answered the Keeper, grinning broadly. “You know I always enjoy your company.”

“And I yours. So, what is this business we have today? A champion for the Light?”

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware of our request regarding the General,” he said, cryptically referring to Moloch whose name was never to be spoken aloud in the Hub.

“I am. It’s an idiot, you know. We need only outsmart it, which shouldn’t be that difficult.” He paused, stroking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, then said, “Tell me, Keeper, how many devil-spirits does it take to replace a light bulb?” Before Croghan could answer – he had no idea anyway – Michael said, “None – they can’t stand the light!”

Katie, shocked into speech, said, “Whoa! Did an Archangel just tell a – a joke?! A lame one, too! Holy shi-uh-gar, uh, sugar. Yeah.” She clamped her mouth shut and started looking for the nearest exit.

Michael turned to her, stared for a moment, then burst into laughter, a loud, infectious sound that made her giggle in spite of herself. “I like you, Katie Grandol,” he told her, chuckling. “You have a bold heart and a sharp mind.”

“I – thank you.” She grinned horribly at him, totally blown away by his attention.

“I believe,” Celesta interposed politely, “that this young man needs to start his lessons with the Sword now. Michael, this is Cian MacDara. Cian – Michael.”

After ruffling Katie’s hair (which she somehow didn’t mind one bit, even though anyone else would have drawn back a bloody stump), Michael nodded, looking serious once more. “So he does. Come, Cian MacDara, show me what you can do.” He reached back and pulled one of the swords from behind his back; it was larger than the Irish sword by almost double and on it were letters of some kind, etched into the metal from hilt end to tip. He handed it to the boy hilt-first and Cian took it carefully, weighing it automatically, and finding it perfectly balanced and surprisingly light.

“Is this the Sword of Light?” he asked.

Michael smiled. “No, boy. This one is.” He pulled the other from behind his back and immediately the Hub was flooded with a brilliance that nearly knocked everyone, save the two angels, to the ground.

“Can someone throw me a pair of sunglasses?” Katie muttered, squinting even with her eyes closed.

Michael replaced the sword, shutting away its light. In the ensuing silence, Cian and the others regained their composure, slowly opening their eyes.

“How am I supposed to use that sword if it blinds me when I look at it?”

“Not to worry, Cian MacDara. Your eyes will be blessed. But this will happen only after you learn how it works and how to wield it properly,” Michael explained. “That is why – for now – you’ll use the one you hold.”

The boy nodded, wondering once more why he had been chosen for this.

But then the luxury of self-doubt was curtailed as Michael told him to pay close attention – the lesson was about to begin.

First, Michael explained that the Sword was not an actual, physical weapon, but a manifestation of the Light. This manifestation contained every promise, every phrase of power, and every desire for good abiding in the heart of the Creator. Next, he told Cian that each type of movement with the blade determined the kind of power released, and each kind of attack determined the type of movement to be made.

After having Cian repeat these things aloud to be sure they were remembered, the Archangel warned that the thoughts of the wielder determined the purpose of each movement and effectiveness of the Sword strokes. A wrong thought, one that was not based on the will of the Creator, would result in a drain of power which in turn would render the Sword ineffective, useless.

That having been said, Michael took Cian by the shoulders and stared down earnestly into the boy’s eyes. “What kinds of thoughts do you have, Cian? What do you think of yourself, your life, your friends and your circumstances? What do you think about being here?”

Cian looked back without fear into the fierce yet serene eyes of the Archangel, and knew that to answer quickly was to answer wrong. “I think,” he said, paused for a moment, then continued, “I think I need to consider your questions honestly and with much care before I even try to answer.”

A slow smile spread across Michael’s ferociously handsome features. “Good. Very good. And while you are considering them, close your eyes and raise your sword.”

Cian obeyed, not sure what Michael was doing, but having no desire to start questioning him.

“Now imagine a wolf coming from behind you to attack you on your left side – and defend yourself.”

Immediately, Cian pictured the animal attacking as described and switched the sword to his left hand to execute a downward, back-handed stroke, extending his right leg forward to add momentum. He halted in that position, standing still, waiting.

“Directly behind you – larger wolf!”

The boy whirled around in a clean one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc, sword whistling a little higher, his imagination filling his head with the image; as he moved, and right before the end of the swing, Michael called out, “In front, left, then right!”

Without hesitation or pause, he continued his arc to encompass the full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, then smoothly passed the sword back into his right hand and slashed backward against the non-existent enemy.

“Stop.”

Cian stood straight, feet together, sword at his side, and faced Michael, opening his eyes once more.

“Four wolves attacked and four lost their lives. Excellent.”

“Had they really been there, the sword would have found them?”

Michael chuckled. “Had they really been here, you’d be looking down at four headless bodies.”

The boy nodded, frowning slightly. Not so much because they weren’t real enemies. Rather, it was because he realized his task was going to be harder than the training because Moloch was not some vision conjured up by his mind to help him train. Also, he wouldn’t have Michael there to tell him the direction of the attack. This was much more difficult than the free exercises he did on his own, and much, much harder than fending off a visible enemy. Was this how he’d have to fight Moloch? Still, Michael seemed pleased . . .

That was when it dawned on Cian that, logically, he shouldn’t have been able to move the way he had in the tiny space where he and Michael were standing. He’d been so focused that he hadn’t noticed how the hill, which wasn’t very large, had somehow grown to three times its normal size. The stone where Celeste sat was now easily fifty paces away. “Wait – how did we get here?”

“Am I right,” the angel said, ignoring Cian’s question, “in assuming that you can move a lot faster than that?”

Shaking off his confusion, Cian replied, “I – well, yes, but I know that speed doesn’t always help in terms of accuracy.”

“No, it doesn’t. But I think your accuracy is probably quite good, too.”

Cian rolled his eyes, thinking of the monstrous spirit in his dream. “You’ve no idea how much I hope you’re right.”

“Have you memorized the Laws of the Sword?”

The boy thought quickly now. Laws of the Sword? Huh. Okay, what did he say? There were five of them. . . He took a deep breath and started. “The Sword of Light is not a physical weapon but a, er, manifestation of the Light. Yes? And this manifestation contains all the, uh, every promise and every phrase? Um, phrase of power, and every good, no, desire for good. . .abiding in the heart of the Creator.”

“Relax, Cian. You’re doing fine.” Michael’s smile was a combination of amusement and encouragement

Cian nodded, allowing the tension in his shoulders to ease. He went on, “Um, the, uh, type of movement. . .with – wi- the type of movement with the blade determines the power, er, no, the kind of power released.” Brows drawn together, he concentrated harder now on his memory of Michael’s voice as he’d spoken the Laws. “Okay. The type of attack – from the enemy, you mean? That’s what I figured. Um, the type of attack determines the type of – type of movement to do? No, wait. To be made. And the thoughts of the wielder decide. . .I mean, determine the purpose of each movement and effectiveness of the Sword.” He raised an eyebrow, hoping he’d gotten it all correct.

“Very good. Now repeat them again.”

Cian gave an inward groan, but obeyed. This time, he stumbled only twice over the words. Michael had him say the Laws of the Sword yet again, and finally, on the third try, he spoke the Laws smoothly and without mistake.

“Excellent, Cian.” The Archangel patted him on the back. “Never forget them. So have you given any more thought to my questions?”

“You asked me what kinds of thoughts I have.”

“That was the first question, yes. And don’t tell me you’ve been too busy fighting off wolves to think of an answer.”

Cian’s scowl, which had begun when Michael had asked him if he’d thought any more about the questions, cleared as he suddenly understood – no matter what activity people were engaged in, they never stopped thinking, and unanswered questions rarely went away.

“I have thoughts about the people I’ve come to know, about whether or not I’m being a good friend; I have thoughts about my past, and how I can continue to overcome it, usually with every opportunity I have to choose a positive thought over a negative one; I think about my schoolwork, and I think about why in the world anyone thought I have the capacity to fight a creature like. . .you know. Oh, and I think about the things that keep returning to my memory that I’d either blocked out or had simply not thought of in so long, that I’d pretty much forgotten them until someone said something to remind me. And. . .I also think about Celeste.” Cian blushed, despite his strong desire to control it.

“No need to be ashamed or embarrassed about that last one, boy. You’re actually very normal, you know. This is what makes you so extraordinary.”

“What do you mean?”

Michael sighed. “More evil has been done to mankind than any of you know; perhaps the worst evil was influencing man to hurt and do evil to others of his own kind. You, personally, have been the subject of more evil from both sources than most your age, yet you have normal thoughts. That tells me why you were chosen for this battle.”

“Oh.” Cian was pretty sure he got that, but would ponder it more deeply later.

“I also asked you what you think of yourself.”

Cian had to admit that he really didn’t think of himself very often, and when he did, it was to criticize something he’d said or done. But not all the time. “I think I make a lot of stupid mistakes,” he began slowly, not sure how to talk about this. “I think I’m okay, I guess, but try not to let what happened to me be an excuse for the wrong things I do. I don’t hate anybody, but I’m still very angry at. . .no, to be honest, I think I do hate her – my former foster-mother. She’ll soon be dead, and her son will be punished severely, and while part of me feels sorry for them both, there’s still a part that is glad about what will be done to them. I don’t know if that’s bad or not.” He shrugged, looked at his feet, then continued. “But the memory of what they did hasn’t gone away, and there is definite anger there still. Other than that, and from what I’ve seen and learned about others my age, I suppose I think of myself as being um, pretty typical about most things. I’m nothing special, but I’m not irrelevant. No one is. And,” he took a deep breath, raising his head to look up into Michael’s eyes again, “I’m not. . .un-unacceptable.” He swallowed hard, clamping his teeth tight in determination. This was the first time he’d spoken that word aloud since the day he’d told Dr. Lee that his former foster-mother had been using it has his “new” name.

Michael nodded, silent for a few minutes. “Most of what you think of yourself is good and, as you say, pretty typical. But you could be at risk. As long as you’re still on shaky ground about the lies you once believed about yourself, you are vulnerable to serious, maybe even deadly, attack. We must work on this.”

Cian agreed completely. Even if he never got into a battle with Moloch, he was still vulnerable to the evils of everyday life.

“Now what do you think about your life?”

With a crooked smile, Cian said, “It’s good. I never expected that, but it really is. I have a lot to be thankful for.”

“Your friends?”

The boy shifted his gaze to where Celeste and Katie were listening to something Celesta was saying, the Keeper standing beside her, nodding. “I have friends.” Then he thought about Josiah and Felicity, the social workers from Atlanta whose diligence led them to him where he’d been left to die in that basement, and thus saved his life. Then there were the guys he was getting to know at school, particularly Tyler who had accepted him, scars and all. He thought about Niall, the Druid lawmaker from his own millennium who, as their guide, accompanied him and his parents across time. And of course there was the Croghan who had been a part of his life for so long. “I love them all very much,” he concluded. “I think maybe I’m more blessed than a lot of people when it comes to having friends. I don’t have a lot of them, but the ones I have are wonderful.”

“And what about the circumstances you find yourself in now?”

“I don’t know. My circumstances include this place and you and Celesta, and while it’s good, it’s also kind of frightening. And not normal.”

Michael chuckled at that. “No, it isn’t. But as you say, it’s good. Let me clarify what I mean. How do you feel about the circumstances that have brought you to this place for this purpose?”

“Honestly? I’m scared.” He looked at the sword in his hand and shook his head. “I have a lot of help here, I know, but still – maybe after I’ve been practicing a little longer I’ll have more confidence, but right now, I think someone else could do a better job.”

Michael told the boy to sit. “Listen well, Cian MacDara, as I address the things you have told me.” He crossed his arms, looking down at the attentive human, his eyes glittering in the strange light of the Hub. “You are a young man who is feeling all the things any healthy human would feel at your age with regard to self, friends and circumstances. But because you have experienced pain, terror, humiliation, despair, deep loneliness and constant sadness, you also have had to fight a continual battle with those things, and fight you have.”

The Archangel frowned, hesitating only a moment before speaking of Cian’s suicide attempts. These had been prompted by his foster family’s almost non-stop barrage of hatred-filled suggestions that he was so worthless, he ought to kill himself. Eventually, Cian had been convinced that they were right. Perversely, every time the boy tried to kill himself, they’d stop him and finally decided to tie him up so he couldn’t succeed in the very thing they were telling him to do. “Cian, the fact that you succumbed to the final evil suggestion to end your life,” he explained, “merely says that you’d been broken down completely. Yet somehow, when rescued from yourself by the very ones who would have seen you destroyed, you took that opportunity to rebuild yourself, your mind and your heart. That is why you now have the strength to withstand your past; after the second time you attempted to die, what remained of the little abused boy ceased to be. You slowly became someone else, and the day you realized you’d been lied to about so many things, was the day you were Unacceptable no longer.

“You have made great strides in finally accepting yourself again, and are – for the most part – Cian MacDara once more. And because of this, you have been able to gather unto yourself true friends, of which Celesta and I would like to count ourselves if you’ll have us.” He smiled, brows raised, questioning.

Stunned by the magnitude of this request, Cian could only nod.

“Thank you, my friend. We will have many other times in the future in which to fellowship together. Now, as for what you call ‘hatred,’ you needn’t fear what you feel. It is not hatred. I have been shown enough of your heart to see that there is no capacity for that emotion in it. It is only great anger, and that, young man, is understandable.

“Finally, I have to tell you that if you’d not confessed to fear about facing that most fearsome being, I would have taken back that sword and sent you off to the Keeper for further instruction. All that remains is to teach you how to understand and conquer that fear, and turn it into a healthy respect which will prevent you from making any mistakes in the upcoming battle.”

The Archangel leaned down and put his hand on Cian’s head, whispering something the boy didn’t understand. When he stepped back, he told Cian to stand up, his expression slightly fiercer. “We are now going to have some good, old-fashioned sword practice.” He drew the Sword of Light from its scabbard.

Closing his eyes, Cian turned his head away, but unlike the last time, no blinding light pierced his lids. He opened his eyes, facing the angel, and saw what looked like a perfectly normal, if incredibly beautiful, sword in the being’s right hand. “How – ?”

“I have blessed your eyes as promised,” Michael explained. “You can now be in the presence of the Sword unsheathed and not be affected adversely by its light. Others, however, do not have this ability.” He nodded over his shoulder to the group by the stone. “Celesta will have to protect them with a kind of barrier.”

Cian turned and saw Katie, Celeste and Croghan standing with their backs to him and Michael, heads down and hands over their eyes. Celesta, of course, only smiled at them, her sapphire eyes glinting brightly with the Sword’s reflected brilliance as she continued to stroke the harp.

“Parry!” Michael shouted, and Cian, nearly taken off guard, quickly raised his sword to block the other as his lesson resumed.

Because he felt no fatigue in this place, he had no sense of how long they engaged each other, only that eventually he was feeling far more confident, and was able to meet every challenge, block every stroke, anticipate every charge; no feint confounded him, and while his stance was consistently one of defense, he knew he could change up to offense in a heartbeat.

At last, Michael put up the Sword in salute, effectively ending the session. Cian bowed to him, grateful for the angel’s graciousness in allowing him to fight without being humiliated by what he was sure was the other’s greater skill.

“You could not defeat me, Cian MacDara,” said Michael, confirming the boy’s thoughts, but in the next breath said, “but neither could I defeat you. Impressive.”

Cian was dumbfounded. He was about as sure as he could be that angels didn’t lie, so did this mean he was truly a good swordsman, and not as inadequate as he had thought himself to be?

Michael laughed. “Don’t look so surprised, boy. When we began, I could have overcome you, if not easily, most certainly. But now – ah, I see you have no idea how long we’ve been sparring.”

“Uh, no. How long?”

He slid the Sword back into its scabbard and put out his hand for Cian’s, which he then replaced as well. As soon as he did, the hill returned to its former size and they were standing in front of Celesta. “Keeper,” said the Archangel, “how long would you say we’ve been at the boy’s lesson?”

“Long enough for Celeste to have learned the remaining three hundred and forty-nine songs,” he replied, smiling at the girl who was sitting on the ground at Celesta’s feet.

Cian looked at her curiously. “You really learned that many songs?”

She nodded, unsure of her voice. Celesta had put some sort of transparent barrier between them and the sparring pair so they could watch without being blinded by the Sword. Celeste had been watching him and Michael for quite a while now, and was totally awed by Cian’s skill and grace. She’d had no idea he could do something like that.

Katie was as deeply awe-struck by Cian as Celeste, but not so in love with him as to be incapable of speech. “I’d say we’ve been here the equivalent of about, oh, three months or so?”

“Very good!” said Croghan, impressed. “A little closer to four, though.”

“What?!” Cian absolutely hadn’t expected that. “How can that be?”

“What did I tell you all about the Hub?” asked the Keeper gently, appreciating the boy’s sense of shock. “And you, Cian, have been here several times before and certainly should have known the answer.”

“Yes – it exists outside of Time. I get it, but it’s still a bit…weird.”

“So what now, Michael?” Croghan looked up at the Archangel.

“Now you take these young people back to their homes, and later in their tomorrow, bring them here for their final time of learning. Both Cian and Celeste must more fully understand the nature of the Sword so that he can fight and she can help him.”

“Am I included in this?” Katie asked nervously. She had no intention of being left out, but doubted the wisdom of defying an Archangel, especially this one.

“Of course.” He gave her a kind smile. “You must also understand so you can help your friend to stay strong. That is your purpose as the Attendant.”

Relieved, Katie smiled. “Way cool – thank you!” No sooner had the words of gratitude left her mouth than the shimmer of light and color engulfed his magnificent form, and he disappeared from before their eyes.

“I do believe,” said the Keeper, “school is out.”

SIX

 

Michael, Celesta, and the Keeper stood silent on the hill. Celesta did not need to play her harp, nor was any music necessary when Michael was present – evil would not dare approach when he was there, unless it wanted to be instantly banished, and even the more distant reaches of the pathways were unusually free of their vile encroachments. The Keeper had returned from taking the children back to their homes on Earth, and now they were pondering what would happen next.

“This is going to be rough on them, isn’t it,” said the Keeper – it wasn’t a question. The two angels knew the outcome, but could not tell him all of what would be. For while he had ceased being completely human a long time ago, enough of him still retained emotions that would get in the way and cause serious problems.

“It will,” Celesta confirmed, but gave no details.

“Keeper, have you prepared the place where they will meet the enemy?” Michael asked.

“I have. I’m not very happy about where it is, by the way.” The Keeper sighed. The Hub, of course, was out of the question – Moloch’s name was not even allowed to be mentioned here, much less his actual presence. So they had agreed to bring Cian and the girls to another place, one that was considered neutral on both sides of the spiritual fence, so to speak. It was located through a portal in Scotland, and was a strange place that the Keeper never felt at ease about using. Its name was Uamh-Binn, a Gaelic word meaning “cave of melody.” It sounded very nice, but some odd things had gone on in there, mainly because of its use by evil as well as by good.

Interestingly enough, it was also associated with Ireland because it was later named after Fionn mac Cumhaill, or Finn MacCool in the modern vernacular. There was a legend about him having built a causeway in Northern Ireland across which he was to travel in order to do battle with a Scottish giant who lived in this cave. One version of the legend said MacCool fell asleep, so his wife covered him with a blanket to make him look like a baby, and when the giant came across to meet him, he was told that Finn was his own infant. The giant, thinking that if the baby was that size, the father must be gigantic indeed, became terrified and ran back to Scotland, tearing up the causeway behind him so Finn couldn’t cross.

Croghan rather liked that story. However, the cave itself, composed of the same volcanic basalt pillars as the Causeway, was an eerie place. One could reach it from the top of the uninhabited island of Staffa, but the best way was by small boat into one of its mouth-like openings. The more modern name of the place was Fingal’s Cave, and he didn’t like it, not one bit.

What also disturbed him was how commercial it had become. In an earlier era, a composer named Mendelssohn had written a rather lovely piece of music called “Fingal’s Cave Overture” after visiting it and experiencing the weird echoes inside. Because of this, people had become curious, and before long, were all over the island and passing by in boats to take part in touring the place. This meant, of course, that he’d have to see about renting his own boat and going there at a time when tourist trips past the cave’s mouth were done for the day.

“What are you thinking?” asked Michael, watching the man’s ruminations.

“About the logistics of getting in there,” replied the Keeper. Another silence ensued, until finally the Keeper asked, “Have we done enough to prepare them, Michael?”

“Our next session will tell us that.” The Archangel’s response was unemotional.

“You know I’m worried about them.”

“I do.”

“And you’re not? Either one of you?”

“We know the outcome,” Celesta reminded him. “There’s no point in worrying. What will happen is what will happen, regardless of how we might be feeling.”

He stared at them, both taller and more splendid to behold than any human, and had to remind himself that they were children of the ultimate Being of love, light and goodness. They had to feel something toward the three young people who were possibly being so brave only because they had no idea what they were about to face – well, except Cian, who’d at least had a glimpse of Moloch’s capabilities.

“Keeper.” Celesta laid a hand on his shoulder. “We love them, too. You must know we’ll do everything within the Laws of Creation to help them, and I can at least assure you that they will all survive this encounter. But I cannot tell you in what state they will be or where this will take them. I hope that’s enough; we love you as well and it hurts us to see you so . . .what is that word your doctors like to use so much? Conflicted, I think.” She smiled her brilliant smile, but her sapphire eyes gleamed with regret. She clearly wanted to tell him more, but was simply not allowed. “Why don’t you play for a while?” she suggested. “I know it gives you peace even when you are being extra watchful.” She handed him his harp.

“Thank you, Celesta.” He took it, grateful for her efforts to comfort him, and sat on the stone.

“We will see you soon, Keeper,” Michael said gravely. “Keep your heart as well as these Doors.”

“Thanks, Michael. I will do that.”

The two dissolved into their respective veils of liquid light, and except for the sweet melodies soon issuing from the harp, the Hub was back to its customary stillness.

 

*******

 

Katie watched Cian approach the classroom door from the opposite end of the hallway. “How can he seem so, so normal after what he did?”

Celeste shrugged. He really did appear unchanged, at least insofar as his shyness was concerned. But still, there was something…she looked at Katie, and suspected by the way her friend was staring at him that she felt it, too.

“Hey,” he said quietly when he’d reached them.

“You feeling okay today?” Celeste asked.

“Fine. You?”

She smiled up into his eyes, happy to be near him. “Yup.”

“Guess we’d better go in before the Glassy-Eyed Rabbity Sheep Creatures show up,” Katie muttered.

Cian gave her a strange look, then turned back to Celeste. “You have any idea what she’s talking about?”

Remembering her friend’s description the week before of their female classmates and their reactions to Cian, she giggled and nodded. “Yeah – don’t worry about it.”

Mr. Barata, their history teacher, greeted them with a smile. He was sitting at his desk, a huge stack of books on one side and a pile of what appeared to be maps on the other. The girls knew this meant he had something interesting in store for them – he was one of those rare teachers who loved the realities of his subject so much, he was able to draw his students into the various worlds it encompassed. Even students who hated school enjoyed his class.

Most everyone was in the room by now, and the boys acknowledged Cian with friendly words and pats on the back. A few girls were already seated, but the majority of them came in right before the bell rang.

A group of three separated themselves from the others and one of these came up the aisle, stopping beside Celeste. “Hey, bi-atch!” she hissed.

Celeste glanced up in surprise, more at the venom in the girl’s voice than at her words. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me – and you’d better watch your back – ”

There was a sudden movement behind the girl, and she turned to find Cian, his brows drawn together in anger, glaring down at her. “If anything unpleasant happens to her,” he said in a terrifying whisper, “you and everyone involved will have to answer to me.”

The girl gulped, nodded, and retreated back down the aisle, going swiftly to her desk and opening a book.

Meanwhile, Celeste, having recovered from the shock of what had happened, gave Cian a grateful smile, blushing fiercely.

He sat down again, still a little upset. How dare that girl threaten Celeste like that!

After class, all the girls gave both Cian and Celeste a wide berth as they headed out the door. The one who’d had the audacity to make threats had, through some careful note-passing, warned the other girls that Cian and Celeste were together, and to back off.

Now the glances he was getting were mournful ones, most accompanied by head-shaking, and he had no idea what to think about that.

“I’ve got it!” Katie exclaimed when they were out in the hall and on their way to the next class.

"You’ve got what?” asked Cian and Celeste, almost simultaneously.

She stared at them for a second. “Seriously? You guys have got to stop that. Anyway, what I was going to say is that I’ve figured out what’s different about you, Cian.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You’re more confident. I really don’t think you could have told that air-head off the way you did if this was last week.”

Airhead. . .oh, Lord. Yet another term he’d never learned because of those six years in Georgia. He shrugged. “Maybe. I guess. I…I was really furious that she would say something like that when Celeste hadn’t done anything to provoke it.”

“Well,” Katie put her head to one side, “that’s not entirely true.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Cian, is that you like her – like, a lot. Everyone can see it, and the other girls are so freaking jealous, they can’t see straight.”

He thought about this for a moment. “Okay, but how is that her fault?”

“It isn’t.”

“Uh, what?”

Katie sighed. “Cian, my friend, ask any boy in the school. He’ll tell you guys do not understand us, and probably never will. We girls are, uh, hard-wired – no, you don’t know about that – um, we’re, well, we think way different than boys.”

“It certainly seems so,” he agreed, totally confused now.

Celeste and Katie burst out laughing at the expression on his face. “Don’t worry,” Celeste told him through a giggle. “You’re not alone. And we have to get to our next class. See you at lunch?”

He nodded, took a deep breath, and went down a side hall to his classroom. Maybe Tyler could explain all that to him. Or the Croghan. Or maybe he didn’t want to know.

During his next two classes, Cian found himself scribbling the Laws of the Sword in the margins of his notebook in Gaelic – he didn’t think they were something anyone else should read; Michael had admonished him never, ever to forget them, and he had a feeling the Archangel wasn’t in the habit of saying things he didn’t absolutely mean. He was also a bit distracted wondering what kind of lessons he’d be given later on. They were to return to the Hub soon after school –

“. . .MacDara?”

He sat straighter and looked up at the teacher, startled at the sound of his name. “I, uh, I’m sorry, ma’am. I was thinking about something else. My apologies.”

In lieu of running up the aisle and giving Cian a big hug to let him know it was all right, Mrs. Swanson blushed and waved her pointer. “Oh, honey, it’s fine – could you try and keep up, though?”

“Honey”? Good Lord! “Excuse me, Mrs. Swanson - what did you ask me, ma’am?”

“Well, I wondered if you could come do this problem on the board, but don’t worry about it.”

“No, it’s fine.” He got up and went to the front of the room, avoiding her flirtatious gaze.

She handed him a dry-erase marker, resisting the urge to pat his—hand.

“Thanks.” Cian looked up at the algebra problem. It had taken very little for him to understand the concepts involved during his six months of tutoring; after getting easily through Algebra I and Geometry, he had found this discipline equally agreeable and was glad his alternating schedule at this school had him taking it twice a week, albeit in different time slots.

With no difficulty, he assessed the problem, figured out how to solve it, and put the right numbers and symbols up on the board.

“That’s absolutely correct!” the teacher gushed.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, handing back the marker. As he returned to his seat, he tried not to roll his eyes, but his expression did elicit some appreciative chortles from his male classmates.

He met Celeste and Katie in the cafeteria at lunchtime, relieved to be among the sane once more.

“You know,” Celeste said once they had gotten their food and were sitting at a table, “I think part of why Ginny – the one you scared the bat snot out of – is so pissed off at me, is because of the spider incident.”

“Bat snot?”

Katie went instantly hysterical.

“You could choke,” said Cian, slightly nonplussed. He certainly had not been trying to be funny, only…they had such weird expressions!

“Sorry,” she managed, “but you’re so. . .I love you, Cian. Like a brother, of course. You’re – you’re wonderful.” She went off into a fit of renewed laughter.

He looked helplessly at Celeste, who was obviously trying her hardest not to join in Katie’s merriment.

“Listen,” he tried again, “can we just. . .we have our final lessons today, remember, and I, for one, am really nervous.”

That seemed to do the trick. Katie instantly sobered, took a deep breath, a bite of her sandwich, and said, “Muh goo.”

Cian raised a eyebrow. “Katie, please swallow first.”

She did. “Sorry. I said, ‘me, too’.”

“I’m really scared,” he told them. “Remember that awful dream-thing Croghan told you guys I had?”

They both nodded.

“I never told you the details of it, did I?”

“Nope,” Katie confirmed. “Celesta explained some more about it, but I doubt she told us everything.”

“In my dream, I was confronted by Moloch. He’s, well, ‘intimidating’ doesn’t really begin to describe him. He can, he can change. One second he looks like. . .like someone I knew, and the next, he’s a horrible pagan idol, then he’s this huge creature with sharp steel teeth, and then . . .then he’s some guy in a really bad suit.”

“Wow,” Celeste murmured. “How can anyone fight something that keeps changing shape?”

“Exactly.” Cian been wondering the same thing.

After school, Cian rode the bus home with the girls, getting off at Celeste’s stop – Katie had gotten off three stops earlier. Throughout the ride he’d had to put up with constant staring, which he tried to ignore by engaging in quiet conversation with the girls and not looking at anyone else. The whole thing was, in his estimation, rather bizarre. He was highly relieved to finally get off the bus, swearing to himself he’d never get on one of those again.

“What time did Croghan say he’d meet us here?” he asked, following Celeste around to the side door.

“Four, I think. Did you talk to your, uh, Mr. Geller, is it?”

“Yeah. . .so did the Croghan. He promised to have me home by five-thirty.”

Celeste uttered a short laugh. “Five months and five-thirty, he means.”

“Think it’ll take that long?”

“Who knows? I suppose it depends on how much more they have to teach us.” She unlocked the door and they entered the small hallway off the kitchen.

As usual, Eileen Kelly was already busy preparing the evening meal. Celeste had warned her that Cian would be taking the bus home with her that day, but she still looked a bit startled to see him.

“Oh! Cian. How are you?” She somehow didn’t sound very friendly.

“Very well, ma’am. Yourself?”

“Fine, thanks. Celeste, why don’t you go upstairs and change before our friend Mr. Croghan gets here, okay?”

“Sure, Mom.” She cast a worried glance at Cian, then left the room in a rush, determined not to let the woman have too much time alone with him – she had a feeling her mother was in mama-bear mode today.

“Please sit,” Eileen said, waving at the table.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He was suddenly very nervous, having caught her somewhat frosty tone of voice, but almost as much because the kitchen had always been the place of his worst confrontations with his former foster-mother.

“So tell me. What are your feelings toward my daughter?”

Wow – she gets right to it, doesn’t she! “I care a lot about her,” he answered honestly.

“Uh-huh. In the century you came from, how old were people usually when they got married?”

He frowned – why was she asking about marriage? “Married? I’m not really sure. I was only eight when I left, but I think maybe, um, well, my parents were pretty young, or at least that’s the impression I get when I look back. . .I’d guess about my age now, seventeen or so.”

“That’s what I thought.” She gnawed on her lower lip for a second or two. “You do realize that in today’s culture, seventeen or so is way too young to be getting serious with a member of the opposite sex, much less contemplating marriage.”

Cian put his head to one side, starting to understand what she was getting at. “Are you suggesting that I’m going to run off and marry Celeste sometime soon?”

“I don’t know – you tell me.”

He laughed, relieved that this was all she was worried about. “Of course not! Mrs. Kelly, I’ve only now started figuring out who I am and why I’m here. The last thing I need is the responsibility of being a husband! This isn’t my century, so I don’t even know what kind of work I could do to support a wife and family, and I’ll not be getting married until I can offer my future wife a house, an income, and the ability to keep both.”

Eileen visibly relaxed, but only a bit. “That’s good to hear. But what about Celeste? Do you want to go out with her?”

This was, he suspected, another of those this-century phrases. “Um, go out where?”

Her first impulse was that he was being a smart-mouth, but then she remembered his origins, and how sheltered he’d been during the six years in that foster home, and almost laughed. “No, hon, it’s an expression that means ‘date.’ Do you want to date her?”

Now he was totally confused. “Do I want to guess her age?”

This time, Eileen couldn’t contain herself, and burst out laughing, but it wasn’t a mean sound, and she apologized through the gales of hilarity.

Cian sat quietly, waiting for her to regain control. He decided then that he would stop trying to answer her expressions, and instead wait until she said something he did understand.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said again, wiping her eyes. “Look, let me see if – okay, you say you care very much about Celeste, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, that probably means you’d like to spend more – a whole lot more – time with her, correct?”

He nodded again.

“Well, in our culture, when a boy spends a lot of time with one particular girl, it’s called ‘dating.’ Do you understand?”

His expression cleared and he smiled. “Oh, you mean courting!”

She heaved a sigh of relief, trying to ignore the way her heart had started fluttering when he’d smiled like that. “Exactly. Because her father and I don’t think she’s old enough for, for courting. Now, if you want to go out to the movies or supper or something with her and a group of her friends, that’s fine. But you can’t be alone with her for any length of time, at least not until she’s eighteen.” Had he not been so isolated from society for the previous six and a half years, she would have felt confident he knew exactly what she meant by “alone,” but before she could make sure, they were interrupted.

“Mother!” Celeste stomped into the room wearing a pair of black slacks and a white mohair sweater with iridescent sequins around the collar and cuffs. “Good grief, would you please stop!” In her hands, Celeste carried a fistful of bobby-pins, her hair spilling down her back and over her shoulders.

Cian stopped breathing.

“Celeste,” Eileen said, her tone of warning unmistakable. “You know the rules in this house.”

“Yeah, but don’t make him think it’s like that in general. I mean, most of the kids I know started going out with each other in the fifth grade!” She looked at Cian, to see his reaction to that bit of information. “Uh, Cian?” He was staring at her in a way that made her blush furiously.

He blinked and looked away. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I never saw you with your hair . . .like that.” He swallowed hard.

“Ha!” Mrs. Kelly exclaimed. “That’s what I’m talking about! It’s obvious you’re totally taken by her. Not that I blame you, of course. She’s absolutely beautiful – ”

“Mom!”

“Mrs. Kelly, let me explain something to you.” He stood up and started pacing. “The first time I ever even saw a girl my age who wasn’t Retta – my, uh, foster-sister – was in a celebrity magazine. After that, I was institutionalized – wait, that sounds wrong. My being put in the Marcus Institute had nothing to do with the magazine, okay? What I’m trying to say is that, uh, why are you both laughing?”

“I think I understand what you’re trying to say,” Eileen managed, leaning weakly against the counter, holding her side. “Girls are something new to you, right?”

“Mom, it really isn’t fu-funny.” Celeste went hysterical again.

Looking stricken, the boy sat down once more, turned his back on them, elbows on the table, and buried his head in his hands.

And he’d thought a battle with Moloch was going to be the roughest thing he’d be facing! “T t? glan as do mheabhair,” he muttered to himself quietly.

“Did you just curse in Irish?” Mrs. Kelly asked, beginning to experience a touch of guilt.

He lowered his hands and stared at the wall. “No, I told myself I was crazy.”

“Uh, Mom, Mr. C. is going to be here any minute, so, uh, could you braid my hair and put it up, please?” Celeste’s own guilt was fighting with her sense of humor, but she could see it was making Cian feel bad, so she decided to get serious and drop the whole subject of her relationship with him – and hoped her mother would do the same.

“Yeah, sure.” She took a hairbrush from the drawer on the other side of the kitchen and told Celeste to sit at the table.

While her hair was being done, Celeste, who had taken the chair at the head of the table, studied the boy’s profile as he forced himself not to look at her. It had occurred to her during this weird conversation that of all the boys she knew, Cian was probably the safest to be with. For one thing, he’d shown himself ready to defend her, and after seeing him in combat with the Archangel, knew he was certainly strong and capable enough. Not only that, but she’d never known any guy who’d displayed so much respect. And she sensed that if her father told him he could go out with her but couldn’t, like, touch her or anything other than a quick goodnight kiss, he’d honor his wishes. Now, if she could only convince her mother of all that –

When Croghan arrived, Celeste’s hair was pinned up, Cian had recovered most of his composure, and Mrs. Kelly had decided to drop the subject of dating – at least for the time being.

“Are we ready?” he asked briskly the moment he entered the front hall.

“Yup.” Celeste had already pulled her coat from the closet, and Cian hadn’t bothered to take his – Mr. Kelly’s, actually – off the whole time he’d been there.

“Where’s Katie?”

“She had to go home first. Is it okay if we pick her up on the way?” Celeste opened the door. “Her Mom never lets her come over here right after school – something about making sure she’s got her homework planned out.” She shrugged.

“No worries.” Croghan gave her a smile and they started out the door.

“When did you say you’d have them back?” Eileen asked casually.

“Oh, in about a year and an hour,” he replied, giving her a lopsided grin.

“A year!” the two teens exclaimed at the same time.

“Oh, no,” Eileen groaned. “You two are starting to sound like you and Katie.”

“Yeah, Katie says we’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Celeste admitted, looking shyly up at Cian.

Eileen tapped her foot for a second, arms crossed. “I think I need an aspirin,” she told them, and headed back toward the kitchen. “No later than five!” she called over her shoulder as they headed out.

SEVEN

 

Mrs. Grandol had given Katie almost the identical command. Without actually lying, Katie had implied that she and Celeste were still working on the same school project she believed they had been doing the first time Croghan had taken them to the Hub. But school work or not, Katie had to be home for supper, no arguments allowed.

Getting into the museum this time was both easier and harder than before. Because the seaport was open to tourists at this hour, they were able to go in with no explanations – although Croghan did have to pay the parking and admission fees. The hard part came when they were inside the building itself.

With crowds of school children wandering in and out of every room, there was little opportunity to open the trap door without being seen.

Finally, feeling somewhat desperate, Croghan took off his coat, handed it to Cian, and told him and the girls to go wait by the far left wall where no one could see them from the doorway of the room. Then he stood blocking the entrance, faced an approaching class and announced, “Sorry, folks, this room is temporarily closed; someone may have seen some rats, and we’ve called an exterminator.”

There were the expected shrieks from the girls and the teacher quickly ushered her charges to a room at the far end of the hall.

Croghan watched until the last student had disappeared, then hastened to the trap door, all but flung it open, and then the four of them went as swiftly as they could down the wooden steps without making any noise, closing the trap door securely overhead.

When they reached the Hub, Celesta and Michael were already there, standing close and talking earnestly to each other. Upon the approach of the Keeper and the teens, the two angels turned, their expressions disturbingly serious. The greetings were as warm and sincere as before, but a lot shorter.

“We have much to do,” Michael told them, beckoning them to sit on the grass, “and much to say. Cian, have you retained your new knowledge of the Laws?”

“I have,” he said immediately.

“Good. Celeste, do you remember all the Songs and all the words?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Katie, have you retained enough of their knowledge to help either one – especially Celeste – if they stumble?”

“I have. It’s almost all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Excellent.” Michael turned to Celesta. “I think we are ready. I will take the boy and start teaching him about the Words, while you explain to the other two what is going to happen, when, and where.”

Celesta nodded and sat down on her stone, removing the Harp from its cloth and placing it in Celeste’s hands. “I want you to play while I talk. What I am going to tell you must remain a secret, and above the music, nothing except the two of you will be able hear me.”

Celeste rested the instrument back against her shoulder and began to stroke the strings, carefully avoiding the silver one, something she’d been told to do at all costs from that point on. Perhaps now she would learn why.

“Come with me, Cian,” ordered Michael, and this time, instead of making the hill grow, he walked down its back slope. The boy followed, deeply curious. They had traveled only a short way when the Archangel stopped in front of a dark area on the right of the path. Without saying a word, he stared at it until it dissolved into the gold mist, then walked through, the boy at his heels.

They emerged not in a cave or some other hidden place, but directly into sunlight, and Cian stopped dead, struck silent and still by the beauty surrounding them. He breathed in, and so fragrant, pure and fresh was the air that he found himself wishing he never had to exhale again. The angel watched him patiently, having seen the effect of this place on humans once or twice before and fully understanding his reaction.

“Where – ” the boy began, then stopped, awestruck by every detail.

“This is the original home of mankind, the place where the first Earth Children lived.”

Cian scowled, trying to remember what the man from the monastery had said when he was staying in his family’s cottage so long ago. “Weren’t there two of them?” he asked a minute later.

Michael laughed pleasantly. “No, my boy, not at all. It started with one, then two, but they were told to fill the Earth, and soon began to do what the Glorious Creator included in His description as ‘very good.’ They came together and produced others of their kind. Most of them stayed here, but a few wandered away to Nod and some other places.

“By the time the Parents had the first of the Rebellious Ones, they were no longer here; all of them had had to leave in order for any to be redeemed by the Promise.”

Cian’s look of confusion told Michael what he needed to know. “Please sit,” he said, and they made themselves comfortable beneath the shade of a lovely tree, a kind that the boy had never seen before. It wasn’t all that tall, but its trunk was completely smooth, its branches graceful and curved into pleasing shapes, its leaves gigantic and almost dripping with life.

“Tell me what you do know,” said Michael, leaning back on one elbow.

Searching his memory, Cian stared off into an incredibly blue sky in which floated not a single cloud. At last he nodded. “I was about seven, I think, when the man from the monastery came to our cottage. He told us that he followed the teachings of Padraig, and that our gods were false. At the time, as you know, we worshipped Dagda and the other gods under his control. My father, I believe, said that he’d worshipped his gods all his life, as did his father, and his father before him, and life had been prosperous and happy. The man – he called himself a priest – told us that those gods had no life in them, but that his God had created everything, including the Earth itself, and the heavens, and all the stars. Then he told us about the first two people, and how they lived in a para. . .well, here. He said everything was fine until a snake or something came along and talked the woman into eating some kind of fruit – I don’t really get that whole story. Anyhow, she did, then gave it to the man. They got into so much trouble over it, they were thrown out of this, uh, whatever – garden. Then she had two sons, one killed the other, and oh – wait. There was something about this new God sending His own Son at some point to make everything right again between Him and people.”

A butterfly, its wings an incredible array of colors, suddenly alit on Cian’s hand. He raised it to eye level and watched it as it flexed the colorful wings for several serene, breathtaking moments, then flew off.

“It – it wasn’t afraid,” he said, wondering.

“Of course not – nothing living in this place knows any fear. Please continue.”

“Right. Well, then he told us about this Son, and how he died to bring mankind back into contact with this God, even though it seems to me an awfully long time in between... never mind. Anyway, there was something about the Earth and everything being created in six days? How is that possible?”

“First,” said the Archangel, enjoying himself, “He didn’t ‘create’ anything in six days. He created it all at the beginning. Then He had only to speak things into being. Here.” From the scabbard that Cian could have sworn was holding the Sword of Light, Michael pulled a large, cream-colored scroll. He unrolled part of it and laid it out on the grass between them. “Read.”

The words, which at first were no more than a pretty scrawl, slowly became comprehensible. Cian goggled for a moment, and then started reading out loud. “‘The exceeding great and only God, in the beginning, created the heavens and the Earth. The Earth became a desolation, having been laid waste, an indistinguishable ruin.’ How did that happen?”

Michael’s expression became grave. “One of the first creatures the Glorious One made was the Archangel Lucifer, the chief of angels, wielder of the Light. He was unspeakably, magnificently beautiful, beyond any human’s comprehension of that word. He . . .I do not wish to say more about him in that state, except to say that at some point, he, well, he turned away from the Light long enough to see and comprehend its lack – darkness. It called to him, in a manner of speaking, and he began thinking vain thoughts about himself because he now had new insights into the nature of light, and eventually convinced himself that he was too good to serve anyone, including his Creator. So he gathered to himself other angels by influencing them through their pride to follow him into battle against the Throne of the Glorious One. He promised many favors, many great things, to those who would stand by his side. The very first to choose Lucifer as his new master was Moloch.

“It was a terrible time, and the angels who were still servants of the Light grew profoundly sad. Once sides had finished being drawn, one third of our number had decided to throw in their lot with Lucifer. A dreadful battle ensued; I was appointed to lead the armies of the Living Creator and was made an Archangel. Lucifer, of course, was badly outnumbered. Fool. We cast him out from before the Throne, and the place he picked for his new home was this lovely little planet, with its blue skies and clean waters, its large, simple creatures and the smarter ones – they were much like humans, actually, but their ability to think and reason were less complex than your kind, yet not as instinct-driven as the giants.” He stopped, plucking up a few blades of grass, the memory clearly making him unhappy.

“So when Lucifer and his followers fell,” Michael continued, “they struck the planet like a huge meteor – do you know what that is?”

“Yes, I do. I took science in the private school I attended before coming to Connecticut.”

“All right. Then you must know what effect a celestial body of any notable size would have upon impact, yes? Everything on the surface died. Everything. It became, literally, a wasteland. The worst part, though, is that this didn’t happen in one day. It took a while, so all that lived, died slowly and over a considerable period of time. The warmth became cold. The cold became unbearable, and great mountains of ice raked the face of the ground forming huge valleys, while the force of the impact also disturbed the inner parts of the world and brought up the molten rock. Mountains that had never existed suddenly did; the climate changes all over the globe depleted food supplies, and eventually, when all of the major upheavals ceased, the Earth was, as the writing says, an indistinguishable ruin.”

Cian looked around at the peaceful, lush place where he was hearing this tale of destruction. “How did all this beauty happen?”

“Keep reading.”

“Okay.” He looked down at the scroll again. “‘. . .and darkness surrounded the faces of the resulting abyss. So the breath of the Glorious Creator blasted over the foul waters, cleansing them. And the Glorious Creator spoke Light into being once more, and thus it was. Seeing His Light, He knew that it was good, so He separated it from the darkness, that which was joyful from that which was misery, thereby making dusk and dawn, which became a united day.’”

“He did about twelve more things like that,” Michael explained, “eight of them before doing any creating again, and the last act before all was completed was the forming of man as you know him today.”

“So the, uh, Creator fixed everything Lucifer messed up. Why? Why didn’t he make another planet for man instead?”

Michael nodded appreciatively. “That’s an excellent question. It has a lot to do with justice, actually. He also wanted to have what you might call a family, one that would love Him even if given the choice to love another.”

“Free will.”

“Exactly. Lucifer, in the meantime, has been given many other names, most of them highly unpleasant, while he himself has grown even more unpleasant than his names.” Michael shook his head looking very, very sad. “He was once a dear friend.”

They were silent for a while after this, but because they were not at the Hub, Time was not standing still. The Archangel finally put away the scroll and said, “The things you read are words of power. The sentences are phrases of power. In the scroll you will also find the promises, one of which we already discussed; you saw for yourself some of the goodness of the Creator’s heart.

“You must know these things because each word, phrase, promise and act of goodness is powerful and can cut Moloch deeply. Your thoughts must be strong, and must be focused on the words from the scroll because that evil one will use everything it knows about you to make you weak or try and make you feel insignificant, stupid, even more so than your former foster-mother did. It’ll demand to know who you possibly think you are, that kind of thing.

“It’ll also use its abilities to convince you that you’ve been cut to ribbons; that your skin is hanging off; that your face has been blistered or worse; that you’ve lost a limb, or your innards are spilled on the ground. It will use every possible kind of humiliation it can think of to unnerve you, make you want to weep; it’ll tell you lies about Celeste, even say that it’s killed her or is going to; and it’ll use your anger against you as well. So you must know what kind of sword strokes to use to parry these suggestions, for that, in truth, is all they are. But remember this – under no circumstance should you answer or question any of its lies out loud.”

“But…but I don’t know everything that’s in the Scroll.”

“You will, Cian. I promise you that. We must go back now to the Hub so you can begin to study.”

With great reluctance Cian took his last glimpse of Paradise before they returned through the golden curtain. As soon as they were back on the hill, Michael had the three humans sit together so they could all see the Scroll. He told them to take as long as they needed, but that they basically had to memorize the entire thing. Then he and the Keeper left, and Celesta continued to play gently behind them as they read.

How long would it take to memorize all the words of Light? The three young people poring over the scroll could not have said; of course, Celesta knew, but as Time was irrelevant to her, she gave it no thought. They read aloud to each other, sometimes testing one another on a section, and after a very, very long while, they stood up and asked where Michael had gone.

Celesta summoned him with her music; he returned, the Keeper in tow, both emerging from the shower of Michael’s luminescence.

“We would like to you listen,” Katie said without waiting for them to greet them.

“Very well,” said Michael, sitting down.

They began – at the beginning – and speaking simultaneously, recited the entire contents of the Scroll perfectly, missing nothing, stumbling over not a single syllable, and ended in total sync at the last “So be it.”

The Keeper got slowly to his feet, and one by one grasped their hands, awe-struck by their accomplishment.

“You did it,” said Michael, his voice hushed with wonder and gratitude. “You are all three most impressive human beings. I thank you for your commitment and integrity.”

Katie nearly whooped with joy, but remembered where she was, and instead hissed a quiet, “Yessss!”

Celeste smiled at her, feeling pretty much the same way.

As for Cian, he had been given a lot to think about from the things he’d read.

“That reminds me,” said Katie, “how long did it take us?” Despite the frequent short breaks they’d taken during their study, this was the first time she’d asked that question.

A look passed between Celesta and Michael. “Had you been on Earth,” the Archangel said, then paused for a second, knowing he was about to shock them, “about twenty-three years would have passed.”

They gaped.

“Oh my God!” Katie exclaimed without thinking. “Oops – sorry…I mean, holy cow! I’d be, like, almost forty!” She’d said “forty” as if it was an age that put her right up there with Methuselah, the oldest human in history.

“Well, it was a lot to memorize,” Celesta pointed out. “Few of your kind have ever been able to do what you’ve done, even over an entire lifetime.”

Celeste, her tone reflecting her own sense of shock, said, “Of course, it’s not like we had any distractions.”

“And that’s exactly why we brought you here,” said the Keeper. “That, and the fact that you haven’t aged a second, and you’ll be home by five o’clock, which means no one’s mother will threaten to damage me.” He was making light of the whole thing, but could see that these youngsters had, in other ways, aged indeed. Their eyes were no longer as innocent, for the words of the Scroll had made them ponder and see things they’d never even considered before, things about life, people, evil, good, about sacrifice and love.

He knew that while physically they were the same, spiritually they were not, nor would they ever be. Their work of learning had made them all a little more mature, more serious and aware of deeper things. Even though he regretted that they were now people who had seen beyond their years and innocence, he knew that they would be of no help to each other in the upcoming battle had they not.

“Cian.”

The boy turned to face Michael.

“I will not see you again until after the battle. This is yours until then. Remember everything you’ve read, and the Laws you were given.” He removed the scabbard, which once again contained the Sword of Light, but not the other one nor its sheath, and handed it to the boy, telling him that the Keeper would show him how to strap it on. “Go with the Master’s love.” With that, the Archangel nodded at the others, veiled himself in droplets of brilliance, and disappeared.

“Wow,” said Katie, and with a hint of irony added, “That was sudden.”

“He has come to love you all, as have I,” said Celesta. “But Michael is a warrior, not one given to great sentiment, so when such feelings overtake him, he handles it by departing gracefully, but quickly.”

“And now,” said the Keeper, “I think we, too, must depart.”

They all hugged Celesta, thanking her for all she’d done for them, then followed the Keeper down the side of the hill and back to the museum in Mystic.

During the ride home, the Keeper warned them to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. He would take care of things with Celeste’s parents and Mr. Geller, but he stressed how important it was that the three of them should be constantly prepared. “We don’t have much time. The knowledge you have received is not only exclusive, but also hard to keep, if for no other reason than because of the quantity of it.”

The girls were in the back seat, Cian in the front with Croghan, but they all looked simultaneously into the rear-view mirror at each other with knowing glances. A bond had grown among them, one that never could have existed had they not shared the equivalent of so many years working together to learn the Scroll. The contents of the Scroll itself was unlike anything they’d ever read, heard or been told before, and the words and phrases echoed through their thoughts like eerie whispers sweeping across a vast plane.

“How long would you estimate it took us to recite all of it?” Cian asked.

“Oh, I’d say about four hours or so, maybe five,” Croghan responded. “Why?”

“Because I think we should do it a few more times before we go wherever it is we’re going to meet . . . Moloch.”

The girls agreed, but Katie said, “Actually, it felt more like five or six hours to me.”

Croghan considered Katie’s assertion, pursing his lips. “Mmm. You very well may be right, Katie. So, if the three of you can find a few six-hour blocks of time to be together and away from everyone else before we have to go, that’d be fine.”

“And when do you think that will be?” Celeste asked.

“Today is what? Tuesday? I’d say by the end of the week at the latest.” He slowed the car to turn into Celeste’s driveway. “You girls both getting out here?”

“Katie’s Mom will be here to pick her up any minute.”

“Well, good evening, then.” Croghan offered them a pleasant smile. “What you did was very, very impressive. Congratulations.”

The girls looked at each other and shrugged. “Don’t congratulate us until the battle is over and Moloch has lost,” said Katie, her eyes more serious than they ever could have been only an Earth hour before.

The man nodded, giving a last wave as they closed the door and walked up the pathway. Then he turned to Cian. “What about you?”

“What about me?” said the boy distractedly.

“Nothing. Are you working tonight?”

“Huh? Oh. Yes. In fact, I have to talk to Mr. Halloran about this new job at the karate school. Did the Sifu talk to you or Mr. Geller since last night?”

“No, not to me. Maybe he spoke to Joe.”

Cian nodded. “Okay. I’ll ask when I get in.”

A few minutes later they were pulling up in front of the large timber and stucco Tudor house. Croghan offered to come in, but Cian smiled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll be all right. I mean, I didn’t do anything wrong this time, did I.”

Croghan chuckled, gave the boy a very adult handshake, and as Cian got out, pushed the button to release the trunk lock so the boy could retrieve the Sword. He’d wrapped this carefully in some towels that he always kept in the trunk for unusual situations – although none before like this one.

Cian waved once and headed up the walk to the front steps. Inside, he went right to the back of the house, where – as expected – he found Mr. Geller at his desk. After leaning the Sword against the wall where it couldn’t be seen from inside the office, he knocked politely on the open glass door.

Mr. Geller looked up and smiled. “Cian! Come in. How did everything go with Gerald?”

Uh-oh. I forgot to ask about what he told Geller we were doing! “Fine, sir. I, uh, have a quick question for you, if it’s all right.”

“Sure.” He waved at the chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” He sat down, putting his backpack on the floor next to the chair, relieved the man hadn’t pursued his first question. “As you know, I have work tonight at the Mall. And as you also know, Sifu Chao offered me an instructor’s job at his school. How am I going to do this?”

“Actually, I spoke to both of them on a three-way call, and they agree that the best thing would be for you to alternate evenings. So tonight you go to the Mall, and tomorrow – right after you do your homework – you can go to the school. The Sifu said he’d give you supper, by the way.” Geller sat back with a shrug. “Made sense to me; that okay with you?”

Surprised at how easy it had been, Cian nodded, smiling. “It certainly is. Thank you, sir.” He got up, grabbing his backpack and slinging it onto one shoulder. “Guess I’d better get my homework done so I’m not late.”

Mr. Geller looked at his watch. “You have to be there by six and it’s already five-fifteen. Think you’ll have time?”

“For some of it. I can bring my books and do the rest during my break.”

Mr. Geller stared at him for a moment. “Are you . . .this is going to sound weird, but did you get. . .taller? I – okay, that made no sense, but…something about you is different—” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Not that I’m aware, Mr. Geller.” Cian suspected that some of what he’d experienced over the past hour/twenty-three years was showing either on his face or in his eyes. Or maybe he was standing a little straighter.

“Well, never mind. Off you go.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy left the office and picked up the Sword, not allowing himself to smile until he was halfway up the stairs.

EIGHT

 

 

As Celeste entered the kitchen, the clock showed exactly five.

“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Kelly, “he did it!”

“As promised,” Celeste agreed. “I’ll get the table set, okay? I know it isn’t Wednesday, but since I’m down here, I may as well take care of it.”

“Fine with me – and Tara, too, I’m sure.”

“Probably. Let me put my stuff away and then I’ll get this done.”

As she walked out toward the front hall to go upstairs, Eileen watched her, puzzled. Something was very different, she decided. Never mind that her daughter had actually volunteered to set the table early, and do it without Tara being made to help; there was something else, a feeling that in some inexplicable way, Celeste was much older, more mature somehow.

“Wait a minute,” the woman muttered, crossing her arms as a disturbing thought intruded. “Celeste!”

A few seconds later the girl came back down stairs – walking, for heaven’s sake! – and joined Eileen in the kitchen.

“Yeah, Mom?”

She stared at her daughter’s eyes for a second or two, then said, “How long this time?”

“How long? For what?”

“How long were you there – I mean, you know, the equivalent of um, Earth time at that Hub thing?”

Celeste didn’t want to tell her the whole truth. However, there was no getting around it, and she simply wouldn’t lie. In fact, knowing the Scroll as she now did, she would probably never lie again. She took a deep breath, released it slowly, and said, “About twenty-three years.”

Mrs. Kelly was staggered. She nearly had to lean against something to keep from falling down, and in fact went to the table where she collapsed into a chair. “Oh, I, oh, my God! You – holy – ! Have you any idea what you are like right now? Do you know what that’s done to you?”

Thinking quickly, Celeste decided silliness was probably in order. “Uh, made us, like, the oldest teenagers in the world? Or…No,” she added, “I’ve become….duhn-duhn-duhhhh….a Mutant Table Setter!”

She giggled, and it did the trick.

Mrs. Kelly visibly relaxed. She sighed as she got to her feet, rolled her eyes, and said, “Okay, never mind. As long as you don’t start acting like middle-aged biddies, okay?”

“Sure, if you’ll tell me what ‘biddies’ are. Does it mean we’re going to get an uncontrollable urge to join a Bridge Club or something?”

“Bid. . oh, very funny! No, a biddy is like an old maid, an older person with no family or any real friends who is prudish and cares too much about other people’s business.”

“Wow,” muttered Celeste, “all that and nearly as old as our Moms, too!”

Mrs. Kelly picked up a damp checkered towel draped over the side of the sink and, holding it by opposite corners, started twirling it into a rope. “I’m going to zap you with this,” she threatened, biting back a grin.

“Oh, no!” Celeste shrieked, and ran out of the kitchen and into the dining room where, amid some genuine chuckling, she set the table.

 

*******

 

Moloch. The name meant “king,” but the being’s original name was a lot less self-important and grand. As one of many such creatures of Light, it had been among those who spent its energies in worship. Upon being convinced by its older brother, whose title had once been The Star of the Morning, that a much better existence awaited in service to itself and not the Creator, it had joined the One-Third. Too late, it learned that despite its new, exalted name, it was still serving something – the now-fallen Lucifer whose own title would be given to another. But when it wasn’t groveling at its new master’s ethereal feet, it did enjoy the worship of certain members of the human race. The first had been a group called Ammonites, and Moloch had taken full advantage of the ignorance of this primitive flock.

Yes, it had so far been a pretty good run, all this eating of humanity, especially the youngest of them. Of course, as a different life-form than those it devoured, the sustenance didn’t come from the burned flesh itself, but rather from the energy emitted during the last moments of life as the child screamed out its pain and fear with as much strength as its dying gasps of air would allow. Once dead, the small pile of bone and ash was of no use to Moloch, except for some additional energy from deep sorrow the remains occasionally elicited from parents experiencing their regret too late.

Throughout the world this being had made itself known in one form or another. In the place called Ireland, however, its reign began to unravel. As Crom Cruach, it enjoyed the same kind of control as it did in the ancient Eastern world, but then that blasted human had defied his calling, defied Moloch, and gone for help to the one group that had access to the coveted Hub of Time. Millennia of searching had at last yielded that infuriating man’s descendants, and one in particular who Moloch thought would be particularly tasty. But the angels had interfered yet again, this time with the the help of that dratted Keeper, and now Moloch was facing a show-down with this same boy who it had been saving for dessert, as it were.

As the Dark Master had pointed out, Moloch had made a mistake by showing itself to the boy in his dream, but so what? Feeling defiant in an attempt to bolster its manufactured bravery when the Dark Master wasn’t there to call Moloch on it, the creature decided the time of waiting was over. Using the limited channels at its disposal to do so, it contacted a Messenger, who contacted Celesta (oh, how Moloch detested that one!) and Celesta came to the Keeper on his hill.

“Now.” That was it. She knew her Croghan would understand.

He did. He stood up from the stone, ran a finger along the shimmering strings of his harp, and as the sound echoed down the Halls of Time, gestured for Celesta to take his place.

“You will need to see Amergin before you go,” she told him when he turned to leave.

“Amergin?”

“His help will be needed when the battle is over. Be sure he is here and waiting at the moment and at the Portal through which you shall all return. You’ll know why, and when he sees you, so shall he.”

“Will he be helping Cian in some way?”

“He is needed for Celeste and Katie. You shall be the one to take Cian where he can be helped.”

Frowning at the cryptic nature of this last comment, he nonetheless nodded and took his leave. It was time, and he hoped the three of them would be ready. With the quiet knowledge that often came to him when he had to do something about which he’d been given no details, he went to the appropriate Portal. This one would bring him out into their Friday. By then, he prayed, they would have done everything they could in order to be able to leave without question.

And then he simply prayed.

 

*******

 

Exactly one week had passed since Cian’s first day at school, one week and one day since Celeste and Katie had first seen him at the Mall, and as the girls had suspected, nothing had been the same, nor probably ever would be. During that short, eight-day span, they’d met a strange individual called the Keeper, an angel who played the harp to dispel darkness, the Archangel Michael himself, had spent a total of nearly twenty-four years learning things they’d never even thought about before (all in the span of only a few hours), and Celeste had fallen in love.

Not a typical week.

“We only have a few days left,” said Celeste as she closed her locker. “When are we going to recite the Scroll again?”

Katie shrugged, shouldering her backpack as they headed away toward English II. “I guess when we can find six hours and a place where no one will disturb us. I mean, you have to admit it’ll sound pretty weird to anyone who might happen to hear us.”

“Yeah. Maybe we should go to my house after school. Um, we get home around three-twenty, so if we start right away, we’ll be done by nine-thirty, right?”

“True, but when will we get our homework done?”

Celeste stopped walking. “You’re kidding, right? Aren’t you the one who’s perfected the art of finishing your homework before you even get home?”

“Well, yeah, but mostly on Tuesdays and Thursdays when my last period class is a study hall. Today, Celeste, is Wednesday.”

“Hmmm.” They continued walking, each weighing the possibilities.

“You know,” Celeste said, as they reached the classroom door, “considering what we’re doing with Cian and all, I don’t see homework as the major priority anymore.”

“What are you doing with Cian?” asked a girl who was passing them on her way inside the room.

Celeste looked her right in the eye and said, “Certainly not what you wish you were doing with him.”

Taken aback by Celeste’s unexpected – and uncharacteristic – comeback, the girl goggled at her, and continued away to her desk.

“Good one,” Katie murmured, and in spite of their new-found maturity, they giggled.

“Good morning,” said Cian quietly, coming up to them.

They acknowledged him with hugs.

“Sleep okay?” asked Celeste.

“Fine.”

“Me, too, but somehow I didn’t think I would. Hey, listen, did your Social Worker guy notice anything different about you and like, say something?”

He nodded, smiling. “Yeah. He thought I’d gotten taller.”

“Before I could really say anything, my mother figured it out with that Mom-Radar thing they have,” Celeste said. “So I told her how long we’d actually been there and she started freaking out, but then I started acting all silly, and I think it convinced her I’m still my usual self.”

“She was okay with it?”

“She threatened to zap me with a damp towel, so yeah, she was fine.”

Cian took a deep breath. Zap. Have to find out what that means. . .

“I’m not so sure about what my parents thought,” said Katie. “They didn’t exactly say anything, but by the time I went to bed, they were both looking at me in that way that usually means one of them’s going to check my temperature any second.”

“Hope that’s the worst of it,” said Cian and they separated, going to their respective desks.

It wasn’t. After her daughter had left for school and her husband for work, Mrs. Grandol had called Eileen Kelly. “Have you noticed anything odd about Celeste?”

Had Eileen replied with a nonchalant “no, I haven’t,” that would have been the end of it. But instead, Celeste’s very honest mother had hesitated, and that was all Mrs. Grandol had needed.

“What is it? Eileen, what’s going on and what aren’t you telling me?”

“It-it’s nothing. . .bad, Kristin.”

“What? What isn’t bad?”

“Um, what are you doing today?”

“Cleaning, errands, the usual – why?”

Eileen had tapped her foot, thinking hard. “Uh, why don’t you come by for coffee a little later, before the kids get home, okay?”

“You know what? Why don’t I come over right now so you can tell me what’s going on?”

Eileen had been silent for a moment, feeling awful – not so much about everything that had happened, but because her long-time friend had found out she’d intentionally kept her out of a loop that included her child. And then she’d felt guilty about feeling that. “Listen, Kristin, I promise they’re okay, and…and…damn it. Just come over.”

There was a click, and Eileen had almost expected Kristen Grandol to be at her door the next second. She’d put on a pot of her best coffee, set out cups, saucers, a small pitcher of fresh cream and a bowl of sugar cubes (she always thought they were much nicer for entertaining than loose sugar), floral placemats with matching cloth napkins, spoons and butter knives, and whipped up some cranberry muffins from a dry sweet batter mix she’d made Sunday night to have for the week, adding milk, eggs, and some dried cranberries before pouring it into the muffin tins. Once those were baking, she’d put out a serving platter, and placed the butter on the table to soften.

A knock at the back door made her jump slightly, but she smoothed back her hair, went into the small hallway and opened it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kelly,” said Croghan. “Ah! Something smells delicious!”

She’d stared, dumbfounded. He was, in fact, exactly the person she needed to help her explain things to Kristin, but in her haste and, honestly, panic, she’d neglected to call him. “How did you. . .I mean . . .please come in.” She’d stepped back, rushed into the kitchen and put out another place setting.

“I’m sorry – were you expecting company?”

“Yes. Katie’s mother. She noticed something odd about Katie and I, well, I guess I couldn’t hide the fact that something had happened to them, so when she flipped out because I knew about it, I told her to come over. Since it was too much to try giving her all the details over the phone, I invited her here. Having you here, too, ought to make it easier to explain things, so even though I didn’t ask you, here you are. Enigmatic man…” She’d put the napkin next to the spoon and stepped back. “There.”

Not sure how to respond to all that, Croghan had simply sighed and taken a seat at the table and a moment later, Eileen joined him. With the aromas of fresh coffee and cranberry muffins playing with each other throughout the room, they sat in awkward silence, waiting for Katie’s mother.

Another knock on the side door several minutes later propelled Eileen out of her chair. When she returned, she was accompanied by a blonde woman of about the same size as she, perhaps a little taller. Kristin Grandol was an attractive forty-something whose features were echoed beautifully in her daughter’s face. She was somewhat on the petite side, like Eileen, but looked slightly more athletic.

Mr. Croghan stood as they entered and Eileen introduced them.

“Her harp teacher? Oh, right. Katie told me Celeste had gotten a harp. Nice to meet you, Mr. Croghan.” She sounded almost interested, but then turned to Eileen. Trying to keep the irritation out of her voice she asked, “So, what’s going on?”

“Please sit down, Kristen. I have to get the muffins out of the oven.” Eileen grabbed the serving platter and took it to the stove.

Kristen gave her back a narrowed stare. Eileen always had things like muffins and other baked treats on hand when people came to visit, even when such visits were unexpected. But something about her friend’s body language told Kristin that this time the reason might be more of a way to artificially keep things on the lighter side.

And then she looked suspiciously at Croghan. “So, uh, the kids are at school. Is Eileen taking harp lessons, too?” Not that she suspected her friend of cheating on her husband – she knew the woman absolutely adored Donal – but she was wondering about the motives of this theatrically handsome individual sitting so comfortably in the Kelly’s kitchen.

“No, dear lady, she’s not,” he said, aware of her distrust. “However, I needed to speak with her on a subject that, uh, actually, it involves you as well.”

“Did she ask you to come over?”

“No.” He smiled broadly at Eileen as she placed the steaming plate of muffins on the table. “Ah, Mrs. Kelly, your culinary efforts should have made you famous long ago.”

Eileen huffed, “Oh, please. And be careful, they’re red hot.” She sat down opposite her friend, Croghan having taken her chair at the end of the table.

They all stared at one another for a moment, until Kristen finally sat back and said, “This is nuts. What’s going on, guys? Why is Katie suddenly acting like she’s so much older? And where, exactly, has she been rushing off to the past few days? Come to think of it,” she added, sitting straighter, “she’s spent more time here lately than at home.”

Eileen took a deep breath. “Okay. Remember that boy you saw at the school last Thursday? The one you told me about?”

Kristen’s eyes went a little glassy. “Yeah, that incredibly gorgeous…” She caught herself, blushed, and cleared her throat. “Right. How could I possibly forget him?”

“Well, he’s unusual in more ways than his looks,” Eileen told her. “On Saturday morning, he showed up here needing to talk to Celeste, and – you’re right: I honestly found myself wishing I were a whole lot younger – um, anyhow, Tara was taking her lesson with this gentleman, but was finishing up when Cian came in (that’s the boy’s name). Tara, of course, nearly fainted.” She gave an almost hysterical giggle, then quickly sobered. “But here’s where things got strange. When Mr. Croghan came out into the foyer looking for Celeste, he and Cian, well, they knew each other! And they started talking about Celeste, and how she was this person they’d been looking for, or at least Cian had, because Croghan here already knew where she lived and all that.”

Kristen put up a forefinger to stop her friend’s story and silently poured herself a cup of coffee, added cream and three sugar cubes, then took a muffin, split and buttered it, and took a bite. Then she took a long sip of the coffee. “I’m getting the distinct feeling that this story is not going to be anything I ever could have imagined. Am I right?”

“Yes.” Both the Croghan and Eileen uttered the word at the same time, looked at each other, surprised, and Mr. Croghan continued.

“Mrs. Grandol, I first have to tell you that your daughter is a delight. She’s one of the smartest young ladies I’ve ever met, matched only by Celeste, I’m sure, and her heart is, like Celeste’s, pure and good. You’ve done a grand job raising her, madam.”

“Gee, thank you!” said Kristen, genuinely astonished and flattered.

“And because you’re a good mother like Mrs. Kelly, here, I hope that what I’m about to tell you – if you believe it – will help you appreciate how special your child is and not be upset by what she’s doing.”

“Okay. You’re beginning to alarm me, Mr. Croghan,” she said lightly, but the look in her eyes boded thunder of the mother’s-wrath variety.

“Sorry. I’m hoping, dear lady, to achieve the opposite.”

Kristin took another, longer sip of coffee, set the cup gently on its saucer, and said, “Well, then, start talking.”

NINE

 

At the end of the school day, Cian, Celeste and Katie met at the bus area and decided it would be best for them all to go to Celeste’s instead of their respective homes. Cian called Mr. Geller, telling him he had some important extracurricular activity to see to, and asked if the man could call the karate school to let Sifu Chao know he wouldn’t be able to make it this evening. He knew Mr. Geller put education above everything else, and clearly assuming Cian’s “activity” was education-related, he had readily agreed to the request. Katie had decided to call her mother when they got to the Kelly’s, and the three got quickly off at the stop two blocks from Celeste’s house.

Despite his determination never to ride the bus again, Cian knew he had no choice, but that didn’t mean he had to take his time getting away from it. As the three teens walked down the sidewalk, Cian unabashedly in the lead, every girl on the bus pressed her face against the windows on the side where they got off. It was probably a good thing he didn’t feel the need to look back.

As they approached the house, Katie noticed her mother’s car in the driveway. “Uh-oh,” she said, pointing. “Wonder what that means.”

“Yeah, and I wonder what that means,” added Celeste, pointing at Croghan’s car in front Mrs. Grandol’s.

“What what means? That there are cars in your driveway?” ventured Cian, who had only briefly seen Katie’s car the week before.

“No, not just cars – my Mom’s car. It means that my Mom is here, and so is the Keeper, and who knows what’s going on in there.”

Celeste shrugged. “The roof is still on.”

The girls laughed at the comment, once again mystifying Cian, perhaps more than usual, as her words appeared to have no connection with anything at all in the whole universe as far as he was concerned, but he was hesitant to ask, afraid the reply might be even more bizarre. When they came inside, the kitchen was empty, but they could hear voices in the family room.

“Here we go,” murmured Celeste, leading the way.

Her mother was sitting sideways on the loveseat; Mrs. Grandol was sitting back on the sofa, looking highly uncomfortable.

The Keeper was standing in front of the fireplace, waving his hands around as they caught the end of what he was saying. “. . .no reason to make any of this up, Mrs. Grandol.”

Celeste cleared her throat delicately from the doorway and both mothers jumped. Croghan, who had already seen them standing there, simply acknowledged them with a nod.

“Katie!” Kristin struggled to her feet – the sofa was incredibly soft and squishy from Tara jumping on it when no one was looking.

“Mom!”

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

Cian cleared his throat. “We needed to spend some time here this afternoon.”

Mrs. Grandol almost gasped. She’d not been close to the boy that day last week, and had therefore gotten the impact of his looks from a distance. Now that he was only a few feet away, she nearly lost her composure altogether. Sure that she would start babbling if she tried to speak, the woman nodded instead.

“Cian, my boy, your timing is impeccable,” said Croghan, “and your instincts pure genius.”

“What?” said the three teens simultaneously. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Croghan, somewhat amused but a bit exasperated, shook his head. “Listen, you three, Mrs. Grandol is having a hard time grasping what’s been going on, not that I blame her, but it occurred to me that if you could prove it to her – ?”

“Well,” Katie started, giving her mother an I’m-so-sorry look, “we actually came over to recite the Scroll together.” She glanced up at the Keeper. “Maybe if she heard it? I mean, I doubt she’ll want to sit here for six hours, but at least she could listen to some of it.”

“‘She’ is right here,” said Kristin, finally finding her voice. “Talk to me, please.”

“Sorry, Mom. Did Mr. Croghan tell you about the Scroll?”

“He told me a lot of things that sound absolutely nonsensical and quite insane, if you want to know the truth,” she answered, trying with every ounce of self-control not to look at the devastatingly handsome youth standing behind her daughter. “But no matter how crazy it sounds, I can’t deny that you’re different, and that the change seemed to happen overnight. And yes, he told me about this Scroll thing, so...”

The three looked briefly at each other, an unspoken communication flashing among them, then Katie said, “Sit down, Mom. This is going to take a while.” She closed her eyes, putting her hands out to her sides; Cian took one, Celeste the other, and they began.

After nearly a half hour, Mrs. Grandol, mouth open in disbelief both at what she was hearing and the clear, steady manner in which the three of them were speaking, glanced at Eileen who, it appeared, was equally amazed.

Mrs. Kelly knew what they’d done, now that the Keeper had explained it, but simply hadn’t realized the extent of their knowledge. Were they really going to recite an entire document, the length of which was equivalent to the Bible, or maybe even longer?

Someone’s cell phone started to make jingly sounds, but no one acknowledged it. Later, the house phone rang, but again, it went unnoticed. Mr. Kelly came home, and without even removing his coat, sat down next to his wife and listened. Tara, having gone to a friend’s house after school, wasn’t due home until nine o’clock, but no one was thinking about her anyway. The cell phone went off again, several times, in fact, but no one moved – they were too flabbergasted. The Keeper had heard the recitation before, but the second time was no less awe-inspiring. And what truly amazed him was how the three of them never moved from where they stood. Six hours of standing still in one spot – only people so young could pull that off. In the Hub, at least, Time was, by its lack of presence, on their side, but here, he knew they had to be getting tired.

Tara was a little late getting in, so she only caught the last fifteen minutes and thought they were reciting lines for a school performance or something.

And then they said, “So Be It,” and fell silent.

Katie blinked a few time, shook herself, squeezed her friends’ hands and let go. “Mom, please take me home. I need to sleep.” She picked up her backpack, the weariness suddenly hitting her, and Kristen, unable to say a single thing, put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and led her out to the car.

Celeste said nothing at all, but turned and went upstairs.

Cian looked at the Keeper. “If I sit down, I probably won’t want to get up again. Will you drive me home?”

The man nodded, thanked the Kellys for the use of their house once more, and walked out the front door with Cian.

“What was that all about?” demanded Tara. “What were they doing?”

Mrs. Kelly gave herself a mental shake. “Uh, reciting something, dear.”

“Sounded kinda like the Bible, but – but kinda not.”

“Well, now,” said Donal brightly, “I think you need to get ready for bed, young lady – and don’t pester your sister, please.”

Tara agreed and went upstairs.

“No wonder it took twenty-three years,” said Eileen, wonderingly.

“Are you saying they were in the Hub for the equivalent of over two decades?” demanded her husband, incredulous. “And what was that? Like Tara said, it sounded like the Bible, but not like it, either.”

“They call it The Scroll, and you didn’t hear the first three hours.” She got up and stretched, stiff and tired. “I’m going to bed, too.”

“Do you realize,” said Donal, only now remembering to removing his coat, “that this is the first evening in all our years of marriage that we had no supper?”

Eileen yawned. “Want some soup? I honestly don’t think I can manage anything else, but now that you mention food, I realize I’m starving.”

“Soup sounds wonderful.” Donal gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’m going to get into my pajamas while you’re doing that, if it’s okay.”

“Go. I’ll try not to pitch head-first into the soup pot.”

He considered this. “I’m glad you said ‘pitch’ and not ‘leap.’”

“You know,” she said, giving a snort of laughter, “you’re a very strange man.”

 

*******

 

The time draws close, my General, said the supreme god of evil in a voice like acrid smoke. Are you prepared?

I am, Master. I have studied all his weaknesses, all his fears, all the gaps in his knowledge and understanding about life. I will destroy him and then take his life, exactly like I wanted to do from the start.

Good. I count on you to leave nothing of him behind. It is indeed a pity we can’t have the females, too. But there is still time for them.

Moloch agreed, stretching its senses to find something to burn. It touched on a human in one of the Middle Eastern countries, a fairly young boy, and asked if it was free to go.

You are. Remember, Moloch, your three-fold mission. Sometimes I think you get distracted.

The dark being assured its Master that it would always remember, then shot off toward its latest victim, already tasting him, already lamenting how quickly the hunger would grow again.

 

*******

 

This night of dreams was like no other as Cian’s thoughts swirled chaotically, unable to fix on any one thing, and were accompanied by a cacophony of sound – music, voices, the vibrant resonance of nature, echoes and whispers. Sense and order of any kind seemed to have fled, chased furiously by a frantic denial of reason. He tossed about, restless, searching for something to grasp, an anchor, anything that could fix him securely to one, sane thing.

The Scroll. It came at him, end-over-end amidst a clutter of bizarre objects, and he grabbed it, drawing it close to himself, to his heart, and resisted the pull of whatever force was causing the maelstrom around him. Then silence. The vast kind of silence one might feel in an underground cavern. He still held the Scroll but couldn’t see it, for no light penetrated this immense lack of sound. He began to recite its contents, his voice an eerie murmur that gradually gained strength. As he spoke, other voices joined his, but not all were in accord or even in harmony with his words. Some, yes, but many others not at all. He continued his recitation while at the same time hearing and listening to these other words, words that reminded him of the tenets of his pagan beliefs; words that showed the similarities between those beliefs and the new ones the Scroll had taught him; words that contradicted the possibility of either; words that confirmed the reality of all.

And in the end, when at long, long last he spoke the final words he knew therein, he bowed his head and acknowledged that the universe was more complex, terrible and magnificent than he’d ever imagined. He was now a being in which heathen, pagan and Christian had joined forces to make something altogether new and different. Were there many gods? Yes. Were they all good? No. Was there one that was Supreme? Indeed. Was He all good? Yes. Did he have a Son? Yes. Was this Son also God? No. Was he a human? Oh, yes. And Cian – what was he, now that he believed such things?

He was the Time Warrior, Sword-Wielder of the Light, Defender of the Balance.

And a young man who had, through an amazing grace, overcome adversity greater than many had faced, while yet remaining humble and desirous of beneficence. Perfect? Far from it. Still capable of violence? Indeed. But the crippling anger was somehow stilled, replaced by resignation and understanding.

He was ready.

The sun splashed through the curtains, bathing his eyelids and dissolving the darkness, taking him from the dream, waking him from the long night.

And clasped with both hands against his heart, was the Sword.

 

*******

 

Cian’s first period class on Tuesdays and Thursdays was Study Hall, and the first two times he’d been there, he had pretty much ignored the craziness around him and done what the class was meant for – study. But because it was held in the Cafeteria, the adult in charge (there was no actual teacher for this class) couldn’t really keep the students from talking, getting up and visiting other students at different tables, or making whatever noise their restlessness impelled them to make. Cian had been one of the only students doing anything closely resembling schoolwork.

This Thursday, however, he simply couldn’t be bothered. Instead, he sat staring off at nothing, trying to remember which sword strokes accompanied which words or phrases from the Scroll. He’d gotten most of it, but a few continued to be problematic, and he had a feeling that he couldn’t afford to be wrong. Someone slid into the empty seat next to him.

“Wake up, man!” It was Tyler.

Cian turned his head and looked blankly at his classmate, realized he was being rude, blinked, and smiled. “I’m awake. What’s up?”

“Nothing – you were, like, zoned out or something. Everything okay?”

Cian chuckled. “Yeah, everything is fine.”

Since that day in the locker room when he’d seen the sickening scars on Cian’s back, Tyler seemed to have taken on the role of mentor, always checking to see if Cian was all right, never letting anyone say a single negative thing about him – not that too many people did.

“Good. ‘Cause lately, well, the last few days anyhow, you’ve been, uh, different.”

“How so?”

Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know – sometimes you look really lost, and other times like you could take on the whole wrestling team by yourself.”

“Why would I ever do something like that?”

The other boy laughed loudly. “You kill me, ya know that?”

A brief moment of alarm came and went as Cian quickly recognized this as another expression. Before he could say anything, they were joined by Alex Frebin, Captain of the football team, who threw himself into the seat on the other side of the long table.

“MacDara!” he exclaimed.

“Frebin!” exclaimed Cian.

“Hey, when are you going to give us some sword lessons – or at least a demonstration? My man here was supposed to ask you, but I think he forgot.”

Tyler shrugged. He hadn’t really forgotten, he simply hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

“I don’t know,” Cian answered. “Tomorrow? I could ask Mr. Eastman today if you’d like.”

“Sounds good. What kind of sword do you have?”

Cian had an insane flash-vision of him pulling out the Sword of Light, and the next day everyone coming to school with seeing-eye dogs, and suddenly had to control the urge to laugh. “Uh, I use different kinds,” he said. “I recently got a job as a sword instructor at a martial arts school, so there I’ll probably use a Dao, uh, a Chinese broadsword I think you could call it. I’ll find out tomorrow evening.”

“Huh. Very cool,” said Frebin. “What school – who is the Sifu?”

“Chao Liang.”

Frebin’s eyes widened and he leaned back. “No way!”

Okay. I’ve heard this one before… “Um, yeah – really. Why? Do you know him?”

“I studied martial arts there starting when I was four, and only quit a few months ago ‘cause it was interfering with my football schedule.”

“Did you study the sword there?” asked Tyler.

Frebin gave him a pitying look. “No, Dowd – when did you ever see me with a sword, or even talk about using one?”

“I don’t know.” Tyler shrugged. “Are we talking about karate or Ginger Williamson?”

Cian didn’t even try to interpret that one.

“You’re disgusting,” Frebin said, throwing a pen at him.

Tyler laughed, putting up his hands to protect his face from the plastic projectile.

“ANYway,” Frebin continued, grinning slightly, “Mr. Chao is a really neat guy – he expects a whole lot from his students, and I think that’s why I like him. But . . .wait a sec.” He frowned, pondering something. “If he hired you as an instructor, then damn, boy! You must be one impressive swordsman! When did you start studying it?”

“I think I was about two and a half the first time my father gave me a practice sword. It was wooden, and really small, but he showed me how to hold it up and block his. If I remember correctly, he. . .he made it like a game. I do remember him laughing a lot.”

“What’s your dad do now?”

“Not much. He died a long time ago.”

“Oh, wow, hey, I am so sorry, man,” Frebin apologized.

“It’s okay.”

“And…..and your Mom?”

“She died, too.”

“So you’re an orphan? Wow. That’s serious. Where do you live? I mean, who do you live with?”

“In a group foster home about six blocks from here.” Cian didn’t mind the questions nearly as much as Tyler obviously did. The other boy was shaking his head, eyes closed.

The bell sounded, more loudly in here than in the classrooms, startling them.

“Okay, all you geniuses,” called the man who was “babysitting” them. “Go away.”

“Yeah,” muttered Tyler, “so you can go out and smoke.”

Cian almost tripped over his own foot. Was the man going to set himself on fire?

“Hey, Cian,” said a girl who was walking past him from the other direction. Behind her, clustered in a stationary knot, four other girls started giggling hysterically.

“Uh, hey.” He nodded but didn’t stop, knowing the consequences of doing so could be dire.

His next class, Auto Shop, went quickly and was followed by lunch. Celeste and Katie usually got to the Cafeteria before him, as his shop class was in a different building on the campus, but when he arrived, he couldn’t see them anywhere. He got in the food line to hold a spot there for them, stopping at the end of the line of students already snaking out into the main area. He was greeted by several classmates, and gazed at longingly by every girl who caught sight of him. When he was almost at the serving counters, he still hadn’t seen the girls and was starting to worry a little. What if the recitation had been too much for them? It certainly had drained him, but then he’d recited the Scroll again in his dreams, and it had strengthened him somehow.

“Cian!”

He turned quickly and saw Katie squirming her way through the line to reach him amid rather loud protests, which she totally ignored.

“Are you all right?” he asked when she reached him.

“Fine. Tired. Celeste is wiped out, but she’s here. She asked me to get her lunch for her.” She smiled, holding up a fistful of dollar bills. “How come you look so rested?”

“Did you have any dreams last night?” he asked, ignoring her question.

She frowned slightly. “I’m not sure. I mean, I’m sure I did, but I can’t remember exactly. Something about the Scroll.” She stopped after they moved ahead in the line a few inches. “No. Wait. . .I think I recited it again. Weird, huh?”

“Weird, yes, because I did, too.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Oh, wow! I totally didn’t even think to ask Celeste about it and she didn’t say anything.”

They finally got their food and headed toward the tables, Katie pointing out the one where Celeste sat, resting her head on her arms on the tabletop. “Hey,” Katie said softly as they sat down, “wake up, sweetie.”

“Huh?” Celeste lifted her head, saw Cian sitting across from her, and smiled, eyes still half-closed.

Looking deeply concerned, Cian asked Celeste if she was okay.

“No – I mean, I’m extremely, horribly tired. I dreamed I recited the Scroll all over again, and had to play the harp at the same time. Now I just want to go back to sleep.”

Katie and Cian looked at each other, and Cian said, “Really? We had the same dream, but without the harp part.”

“You did? Then how come you’re so . . .awake?”

Cian shook his head. “I don’t know, but I think the Scroll did that somehow, and I’m almost positive it’s because I really need to be awake today.”

Celeste sat straighter. “You think you’ll have to, I mean that we’ll have to. . .”

“Yeah. I do, but I don’t know exactly when.”

Katie stiffened and said in a strange voice, “I think maybe now.”

They looked at her and saw her staring at the other side of the Cafeteria where the main doors stood open. There, gazing around at the crowded room, stood the Keeper.

“Oh, no,” Celeste groaned. “I really wanted to eat – I was too tired for breakfast, and now I’m starving, and we have to go. Crap.”

“He hasn’t seen us yet,” Katie whispered, as if he could have somehow heard her. “Hurry up – eat something.”

Celeste picked up her hamburger, took a few bites, ate some fries, sipped at her Coke, and sat back. “Done,” she declared, patting her stomach.

“No you’re not,” Cian contradicted her; for a such a slender person, Celeste, like Katie, had a huge appetite. “You need to finish it – we all do. Please eat.”

The Keeper had spotted them and had begun walking purposefully toward their table, but was stopped halfway by one of the Cafeteria monitors. They engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion as the three friends watched, using this extra time to finish their food, stuffing themselves as quickly as they could without choking. A few minutes later, the monitor took a step back, nodded, and turned away with a blank look on his face.

“Dang! What did he do?” asked Katie, amazed. “Go all Jedi and use the Force on Mr. Enwright?”

Cian drummed his fingers on the table, teeth clenched. The “force.” Jedi. Right. Okay. Where’s my notebook?

“Are you three finished eating?” Croghan asked without preamble as soon as he reached them.

“The empty plates should say it all,” Katie remarked. “By the way, what did you do to Mr. Enwright?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to.”

“Oh. I let him see a little bit of who I am. That’s all. It’s very effective when time is of the essence. And speaking of time…it’s time. Do you have to sign out at the front desk or something?” He seemed agitated, something none of them had witnessed before.

Celeste thought this an odd question. “Wait, why? I mean, even if we leave right now, can’t we just come back to this same moment or something? Why do we need to sign out at all?”

His answer unsettled all of them. “Because, dear Celeste, I honestly don’t know how long you’ll be away or when I can return you. It might not be for a while.”

They all knew this day was going to come, and the momentary silence that greeted these words was the result of their simultaneous consideration that there was no point in worrying about the whole time issue at this point.

Finally, Cian got to his feet, but then stopped. “Wait. I don’t have the Sword with me.”

“And I left the Harp at home,” Celeste added through a yawn, standing.

“No, no.” Croghan waved a hand, his voice tinged with impatience, “I stopped at the foster home and Celeste’s house before coming here and got them.”

“What did Mr. Geller say about that?”

“Nothing. Can we please leave now?”

“Dang, Mr. C!” Katie was scowling as she got to her feet. “Why are you in such a huge hurry? And by the way, since only you know the answer to that, don’t be getting all snitty with us.”

The man sighed deeply and gave her a rueful smile. “You’re right, Katie. I’m sorry. But time really is of the essence right now, and we have a longer journey than usual ahead of us.”

“Maybe we should sign out, then,” Cian said. “I kind of hope the school doesn’t notify our homes, though. Mr. and Mrs. Kelly might know what’s going on but they probably won’t be happy about Celeste being taken out of school, and I got the impression Mrs. Grandol is on the verge of hysteria already about everything. As for Mr. Geller, well, I really don’t know.”

Croghan bit his lip, unable to argue with any of that. “All right – I’ll take care of it before any problems arise. Are we okay to go now?”

They nodded and followed him out of the Cafeteria. At the front desk, the secretary asked for Mr. Croghan’s ID; he produced a Connecticut driver’s license and another card that identified him as the Director of Foster Care for the State of Georgia; he explained that Cian was part of that system, giving them Mr. Geller’s address and number. She seemed to accept this without question, but was concerned about the girls.

“I see,” said the Keeper, then stared hard at her for a few seconds.

She lost all color, took a step back, and said, “You may go.”

Outside, Katie burst out laughing. “Wow! Obi-Wan lives!”

Cian rolled his eyes. Who?

TEN

When they reached Mystic, Croghan parked the car as close to the entrance as he could get, not too difficult a task since the museums were being visited mostly by school children.

The daytime security guard who had never seen Croghan before, stopped the four of them at the gate. “All right, folks – I’ll need to see what’s in those packages.” He nodded at the sword and the harp, each of them wrapped in a soft blue cloth (the backpacks had been left in the car).

“Afraid that’s classified.” Croghan gave him a big smile. “I’m a friend of Mr. Carver, you see. Gerald Croghan. These are some things he requested, and I really don’t think he wants anyone to know about them yet.”

“Uh-huh. One moment, please.” The guard turned away and pulled out a walkie-talkie that doubled as a cell phone. He mumbled something into it, got some kind of crackling response, finally snapping the device shut as he faced them again. “Looks like it’s okay. Go on through.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Croghan formally. “It’s good to see you’re doing your job.”

The man gave him a tight smile, cast a curious glance at Cian, and they went on their way.

At the Figurehead building, they had to wade through several elementary school groups to get in the front door. Getting children out of the small room with the trap door would be interesting. One group of about fifteen were filing out of it when they got there, with another, larger group waiting to get in. Croghan looked like he was going to explode.

Despising himself, Cian decided to act on what he’d been hearing and witnessing since the day he was rescued from the house in Shady Dale. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, approaching the woman who seemed to be in charge of the class about to enter the room.

She turned, then stared, her hand going to her windpipe. She blushed bright red and managed, “Yes? H-how can I help you?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, ma’am, and hate to ask this, but my friends and I have to gather some information from some of the objects in that room, and we have very little time in which to do it. Would you mind terribly if we went in first? You could maybe go visit the next one. It will only take a few minutes, and by the time you’re done in there, we’ll be gone, I promise.” He gave her a brilliant smile.

She nearly passed out, but somehow held herself together and nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes! I’d be delighted to help you out, young man!” She batted her eyelashes at him, grinning like a lunatic, and started shooing her charges away from the door.

When they were gone, Cian and the other entered the room. “That,” said the boy, “was disgusting. I hope to God I never have to do something like that again.”

Neither Celeste nor Katie seemed bothered by what he’d done; in fact, they both looked mightily impressed. Croghan, in the meantime, realized that Cian had started to recognize his own power, and prayed he’d continue to stay humble about it.

When they reached the Hub, Celesta was playing a very gentle melody; it seemed not many of the darkness were interested in being around at the moment. She greeted them with a welcoming smile that looked somehow controlled.

“Keeper,” she said, standing, “I believe it is time for me to leave.”

“It is, Celesta. Thank you for all you’ve done.” He took his own harp from beside the stone and sat down.

“Celeste, my dearest love!” The angel approached the girl, taking her by the shoulders. “You must promise to be brave and wise. Remember all I taught you, and beware how you use the silver string. It is only effective once, as you know, and if you use it too soon, it could cost Cian his life. But I trust your heart will tell you – or Katie shall.” Her expression lightened for a second as she smiled sweetly down at the girl, filling her with peace. She pulled her into a hug, released her, and addressed Katie. “Your friend will need every ounce of your good sense, solid bravery and loving support. You will be facing something extraordinarily difficult, and seeing things that may cause your very souls to wither, but you must not allow this to prevail. For the sake of Cian, as well as that of so many others of your kind, you have to remember who you are – the only people in the whole world to whom it was felt this task could be entrusted. That means, my dear, that you have the ability to carry it out. Do not let go of that fact, and know, too, that you have been given authority from the Highest Source in the entire Universe to do this thing.” She hugged Katie, imparting as much tranquility and strength into the girl as she could, then turned to Cian.

“Defender of the Balance, Sword-Wielder of the Light, and Time Warrior,” she said, her voice commanding, “you have been commissioned to defeat once and for all the being who has done more to harm mankind than any other, except for its Master. You can do this, Cian MacDara. You have the heart, the strength, the knowledge, the ability, and the authority. Fight well, do not be fooled by fear, nor weakened by terror. What you have in you is greater than that which drives your enemy. Destroy him!” Her eyes and voice had grown fierce, something none of them had imagined possible. She took him by the shoulders and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “You have been blessed and cursed, Cian,” she whispered with intensity. “Defeat the curse and give back only the blessings.”

She stepped away, giving them all a last look, and said, “Now go.” The display of brilliantly shimmering light droplets showered around her form, finally dissipating and taking her with it. No one could talk for a few minutes, but the Keeper began almost immediately to play the harp.

Finally, Katie cleared her throat and said, “Are we waiting for that, uh, evil dude guy?”

“No,” the Keeper answered. “We are waiting for Amergin.”

They looked at each other in surprise. “Isn’t he the one who first brought my ancestor here?” asked Cian.

“He is. He is also a harper, a Bard of superior abilities, and a Druid who we trusted enough to make one of our Servant Helpers. He will take my place while I bring you to where the battle will be.”

“Why didn’t Celesta do that?” Celeste asked.

“She left now for the same reason that Michael left when he did,” he answered briefly.

“Oh.” Celeste nodded, remembering Celesta’s explanation.

“Cian,” said the Keeper, “unwrap the Sword. It’s almost time to go, and you should be wearing it before we leave.”

The boy nodded and carefully took the weapon from its blue covering. It was sheathed in silver- and gold-bound leather, the tip of the sheath solid gold with pure silver inlays of Celtic scrollwork. Braided leather laced with finely-wrought, ruby-studded gold chains made up the straps that would crisscross his chest and hold the sheath to his body so the Sword would hang diagonally across his back. The hilt, the only part of the Sword itself visible outside the sheath, was crafted of highly-polished gold, its grip indented where his palm and fingers would grasp it, the cross-bar shining silver with sapphires glittering at either end.

“Uh, how do I do this?” He could see, more or less, how it should go, but didn’t want to risk doing it wrong.

“There are buckles along the sides of the sheath that match with the ends of the straps,” the Keeper explained. “Have Celeste help you.”

An ancient tradition, one he’d all but forgotten, came suddenly back to him – when a man received his first sword, he would ask his true love to buckle it on him. His father may have told him that, but he wasn’t sure. Either way, he felt almost shy about asking Celeste, even though he was sure she knew nothing of this tradition. But the opportunity was too appropriate and special to allow bashfulness to prevent it, so he turned to her, holding out the sheathed weapon. “Um, would you mind doing this?” He felt himself blush and wondered if she could detect it in the Hub’s subtle light.

She gave him a tender smile. “I’d love to.” She took it from him, her arms dropping a few inches from its weight. A brief study of the strapping showed her the buckles and how they attached, and she went to stand behind him. A second later he felt the braided leather being tossed over his shoulders, and her hand came under his left arm, grabbed the strap and pulled it through, attaching it to the scabbard; she did the same with the right side, adjusted the sword across his back, and came around to the front again. “Does that feel okay?”

He shifted his shoulders a little, nodded, and put his right hand back to grasp the hilt. He knew better than to draw the Sword, but needed to be sure he could get to it easily.

“That’s perfect,” he said, looking down at the beautiful crossed straps. “Although honestly, this looks a little weird on a grey sweatshirt.” He gave her a crooked smile and shrugged.

“Well, I think you wear it well,” she told him firmly. “In fact, it wouldn’t matter what you were wearing. It would. . .oh!” She rushed forward and threw her arms around him, taking him completely by surprise.

“Hey,” he said softly, feeling the dampness of tears soaking tiny spots in his shirt, “it’s okay, Celeste. Please don’t cry.” He held her close with both arms and kissed the top of her head, the fragrance of her hair almost making him dizzy. “Everything will work out fine.”

“Y-you can’t promise that,” she sobbed. “If –if anything happens to you, I-I-I’ll die!”

He pushed her back slightly so he could see her face, and she looked up at him, plainly miserable. “No,” he admitted, “I can’t promise that. But I really don’t think we’d be doing this if it were going to turn out that way. If we all do precisely what we’ve been taught, and don’t give in to despair, we’ll win. Maybe not easily, but we’ll win.” He put the side of his index finger under her chin and lifted it higher, then bent down and did something he’d never done – or known how to do – before this moment.

He kissed her gently, tenderly, meaning the gesture with all of his heart. When they separated, they stared in wonder into each other’s eyes.

“I love you, Celeste,” he breathed, sounding somewhat surprised.

“I love you, too,” she answered, her voice trembling a little.

“And I love you both,” wailed Katie. “Aw, crap! Now I need a tissue!”

 

*******

 

The Keeper watched his three charges with some amusement. It was about time the boy acknowledged his feelings for this lovely young lady, and made it okay for her to feel about him the way she did. In one way, it also made what was to come more certain of a positive outcome; the incentive to succeed was now far greater for them both.

So involved were they with each other, that none of them heard the solid footsteps of the Druid warrior as he made his way closer to the hill from his pathway. In fact, it wasn’t until he was standing at the top, his eyes questioning as he gazed at the trio, that Katie finally noticed him.

“Who is that?” she asked the Keeper in what could have been called a stage whisper.

At this, Celeste peered around Cian, and the boy turned to face the newcomer. Upon seeing the young man’s face, Amergin gave a start – he’d been told about his looks, but somehow hadn’t expected them to be this extreme.

“I am Amergin,” the man said in his native Gaelic.

“I am Cian MacDara, and I owe you a debt of gratitude on behalf of my family.” The boy went down on one knee before the man and bowed his head.

Amergin gave him an approving look, highly impressed by the boy’s humility and immediate sense of duty. Not many, even of his own time, had expressed such genuine appreciation for the things he had done for them. And never had he met someone even close to being so insanely handsome who hadn’t become, by this boy’s age, totally engrossed in himself. “Thank you for telling me this, Cian, son of Dara. Please stand.”

The boy got up and faced the Bard.

“As far as I know,” Amergin told him, “no one before has ever earned the right to wield the Sword of Light. In fact, I only know of it through the Keeper, who tells me it is the most powerful weapon ever forged.”

Celeste whispered the interpretation to her friend.

“What about the hydrogen bomb?” Katie asked the Druid, irrepressible despite the solemnity of the situation.

Amergin put his head to one side and regarded her curiously. A female, based on the configuration of her body, but so bold as to speak out like this? He had no idea what she’d been saying, but was impressed – and a little affronted – by her lack of fear. He turned back to Cian. “What did she say? And who is this girl-child to speak so openly to Amergin?”

Cian was sharply reminded of the cultural differences defined by the massive gap of time that separated this man and Katie Grandol. The Celts of Amergin’s time were atypically matriarchal, but their younger women were expected to show as much respect for the Druid elders as the young men. “She asked about a different kind of weapon, one from her own time that is considered the most powerful ever made.” He looked over at her and said in English, “Not the same thing,” then to Amergin, “In her own time and place, women have equal rights as men. In fact, it is considered disrespectful for a man to ignore a woman who is speaking to him, regardless of her age.”

“Really! Oh-ho! Now that is an interesting place, indeed!” He chuckled at the idea, not sure if he liked it, but finding the concept amusing nonetheless. Now he turned his attention to Celeste, who had been furiously whispering the interpretations into Katie’s ear this whole time, while managing simultaneously to tell her friend to shut up.

“And who is this magnificent creature?”

Celeste blushed and fell silent, looking away awkwardly.

“This is Celeste, the one who will play the harp to keep back the rest of the darkness. And – ” he was about to say, “and you can’t have her,” but realized how childish that would sound, so ended the sentence with, “. . .was taught by Celesta.”

The Keeper was certainly no fool, and knew exactly what was going through Cian’s mind. He compressed his lips to keep from chortling; Amergin caught this, and grinned, no fool either.

“It’s all right, boy,” he said, “I’m far too old for something as young and fresh as this one.”

Celeste suddenly wished she didn’t understand Gaelic and wanted to crawl under the Keeper’s rock.

“So!” the Druid continued brightly, still smiling, “shall we trade places, then, Keeper? I’m ready to make some music if you’re ready for some traveling. I still don’t know nearly as many of the Songs as you, but since you seem to think what I do know is sufficient – ” He shrugged. “I trust your judgment on this Croghan.”

The Keeper stood, still strumming as he passed the harp to Amergin, who took up the tune and sat comfortably with a sigh.

“Here’s your Harp.” The Keeper handed the wrapped instrument to Celeste. “It’s actually a great smokescreen for what we’re really about. I’ll explain later.” He gave Amergin a pat on the back, thanked him deeply for his help, and led the three teens from the hill, going in a direction they hadn’t taken before.

They walked for what seemed a very, very long time, but finally stopped at one of the portals defined by its swath of darker grey. Here, he indicated that Cian should cover the sword with his coat and adjust the straps so the hilt would slide down below the level of his collar – it might not look right for him to be carrying something like that on his back where they were going.

When the Keeper caused the grey to go misty and golden, they walked through and found themselves on a hill overlooking a lovely little island. At their backs was a cairn, and the panorama around and below was green and windswept, the water around the island the same dark blue as Celeste’s eyes.

“Where are we?” Katie, delighted, stared wide-eyed at the view.

“The Isle of Iona,” the Keeper told her. “It’s about five o’clock in the afternoon and the same day as when we left your school.”

“So we’re current with our own time?” Celeste pulled an errant red-gold strand of hair away from her eyebrows and tucked it behind her ear. It was quite windy on this little hill.

“You are,” the man confirmed, then pointed south. “See that cluster of buildings?

“Which – the larger group, or the group of larger ones?”

“The group of larger ones. That’s Iona Abbey, former home of St. Colmcille – I believe you know who he was, Cian, yes?”

The boy nodded; his family had been visited often by the monks from one of his monasteries in Donegal, the man’s birthplace. In fact, he was related to Niall, Cian suddenly remembered.

“So now what?” Katie asked, holding her hair back with one hand. The wind had been whipping it about her face and she was getting annoyed.

“Now,” said the Keeper, “we walk. We’re heading toward the shore down there where I’ll hire a boat for later on.”

As they began their descent, a group of tourists were trudging up toward them, some laughing with each other, others looking up at the hill like it was Mount Everest, still others more interested in the scenery all around. A man at the front identified himself as the Guide by his constant, almost sing-song lecture about the hill, which he was calling Dun I, saying it was once a fort that had been built in the Iron Age. The man acknowledged the four coming toward him with a friendly nod, not missing a beat in his narrative.

Cian had been looking to his right at the sweep of land – it reminded him of the pure beauty of the land surrounding his cottage so very long ago – but was distracted by the noise of the tourists, and turned to look at them. There was a sudden, weird silence as every female member of the group stared, seemingly love-struck, at the preternaturally handsome boy passing them.

Katie giggled and tucked her left arm in his right, while Celeste took his left, and both gave the group cheeky grins.

“I really wish that would stop happening,” Cian muttered once they were past the tourists.

Celeste grinned. “I think the only way that could ever be is if you started wearing a paper bag over your head.”

He thought about that for a few seconds. “Yes, but then I couldn’t see where I was going,” he pointed out seriously.

“You could always cut holes in it for your eyes,” suggested Katie, holding back her amusement.

“I suppose, but that would really make people stare.”

This was too much. Both girls dissolved into hysterics. “We’re joking!” Celeste gagged, further tickled by his look of total confusion.

Ahead of them, the Keeper smiled to himself. He was glad they were enjoying themselves so much, because what they would be dealing with later wasn’t funny at all. In fact, this could well be the last time they would be laughing for a long time. He thought about their carefree hearts and hoped he was dead wrong.

ELEVEN

When they reached the Abbey, they stopped to gaze at the lovely old buildings of which it consisted, but soon the Keeper was urging them on again. They went down past the Heritage Centre, deciding they’d return to enjoy its lovely garden and café for a bite before continuing by boat to their ultimate destination, Fingal’s Cave.

Had they turned left at the bottom of the hill, they would have eventually come to the shore facing Staffa Island, the home of the Cave. However, the only way to actually get there was either by joining one of the boat tours, or hiring a boat of their own, which was what the Keeper was planning to do. He had a friend there – of course – who would lend him his small motorboat whenever it was needed, and it was to this man’s shop that he brought his charges, not really caring about the stares Cian was getting. That was the least of anyone’s concerns right then, and it wasn’t until they’d sat down for a light dinner at the café a little later on that the man relaxed somewhat.

A woman approached their table to ask if what Celeste was carrying all wrapped up was a harp, but her eyes never left Cian’s face.

“It is, dear lady,” said the Keeper. “In fact, we’ll be taking it over to the Cave later – she has to practice for a concert which will be held within its walls.”

“How lovely!” she remarked automatically, having comprehended nothing he’d said.

When their food arrived, the woman reluctantly went back to her own table, all the while looking back over her shoulder at the young man and nearly tripping over a child who was on his way to the bathroom.

They ate in silence, some of the Keeper’s returning tension having finally rubbed off on the rest of them.

Uncomfortable with the unusual solemnity, Katie finally asked, “Was that the ‘camouflage’ you were talking about when you told that lady about the harp?”

“What? Oh, yes. Lots of people have held concerts in the cave because of its acoustics. And since the coming battle there was carefully orchestrated, I wasn’t lying.”

“Oh. Look, Mr. C. As important and serious as all of this is, I don’t think it’s such a great idea to get all melodramatic right now. Cian needs to be encouraged, not brought down, you know?”

He looked at her, shaking his head, his smile rueful. “You’re absolutely right once again, Katie. I apologize for being so somber, especially on such a lovely evening.”

The air was far from warm, but the sun, which had been blazing bright in a wide, sheer blue sky for most of the day, was now mellowing into sunset, the air fresh with the sweet sea-smell, and the food was good. They all lightened up a little, finishing their meal feeling contented.

“Okay, my friends, it’s time to head for the dock.” The Keeper stood, tossed a few bills on the table for a tip, and they followed him down to the Ferry dock where the last group of tourists was crowding onto the large white and red boat heading for Fionnport, the other terminus for the Ferry on the Isle of Mull across the Sound of Iona.

As it turned out, the motorboat they were using themselves was larger than they’d expected: a good thing, considering the choppy water they had to traverse to get to the Cave. The sun was almost gone when they pulled up to its entrance, an impressive structure made of hexagonal columns crowded together like gigantic fistfuls of unsharpened pencils. The mouth was huge, but the waterway leading inside was itself quite narrow.

The Keeper slowed the motor, and they could hear the slap of water against rock as he steered carefully down the center of the entrance.

Cradling the Harp in her arms, Celeste peered into the darkness ahead, feeling a growing sense of uncertainty. Other than knowing she was to play without stopping as Cian battled this spirit creature, she really wasn’t sure what to expect.

As for Cian, the battle was one he both feared and welcomed. He had some idea now of what this being was capable of doing, and knew that only the power of the Sword with its connection to the words in the Scroll could bring about a triumphant finish, but he also recognized this as another kind of battle, one with himself and his past, and a third to bring a measure of relief to those who might otherwise fall victim to this creature’s vile appetites. It was because of these last two that he didn’t jump out of the boat and swim for all he was worth back to the Island behind them. That, and the fact that he didn’t know how to swim.

At last, the Keeper cut the engine completely and moored the boat on a semi-flat area of broken stone on their right. Here, the Cave was almost pitch black, and the water washing in and out made an unbelievably beautiful, ethereal swirl of echoes that were so all-encompassing, they felt almost like an entity in themselves. From the bottom of the boat, he took a large electric lantern that he switched on as he stood, illuminating the magnificent columns around them and showing that they’d reached the back wall of the Cave. They got out carefully, and Cian helped the man pull the boat a bit further up onto the shingle.

The Keeper asked Celeste to remove the cloth covering the Harp, which he bundled together with the other one, tucking both under his arm. “Follow me, please.” His voice sounded bizarre and hollow, and Katie had to resist the urge to make ghost noises.

He stopped a few yards later, facing the massive wall of stone, and sang out on a single note the words, “Ni ceart go cur le cheile!”

The stone dissolved in a rather more spectacular way than the portals; it seemed to disintegrate from the top down in a shower of black sparks, leaving an opening large enough to permit the entrance of a mid-sized commercial airplane. Beyond, they could see a vast meadow glowing in an unnatural twilight. A small mound rose about four feet at the very distant right edge of this meadow. At the top of the slope grew a golden-barked tree with tiny silver leaves. Without being told, Celeste knew this was where she and Katie were to sit, and indeed it was toward this rise that the Keeper led them. It took some time to cross the meadow, which was much larger than they’d thought. When they finally reached the area with the tree, the Keeper asked Celeste to sit down, indicating that Katie should sit next to her. His voice this time sounded almost normal, but not quite. It was like they were in a very tight space and all sounds were intimate with no reverberation of any kind.

Cian removed his coat and handed it to Croghan, moving his shoulders to readjust the straps so the sword was once again within reach, then nodded, satisfied. “Keeper,” he said into the rigid air, “are they going to be watching?”

“They are. That is how Celeste will know what music to use to protect you.”

“Then how will they not be blinded by the Sword’s light?”

“Ah, that is what these are for.” He took the blue cloth pieces from under his arm, shook them out together, and threw them up in the air. As they floated back down they grew, the threads separating into a massive grid that eventually stretched into invisibility.

“Draw your Sword, Cian,” the Keeper ordered.

He obeyed, and to his utter amazement, the girls stared right at him, as did the Keeper, none of them in any way affected by its Light; Cian’s eyes had already been granted some kind of protection, but now everyone could look at it and not be blinded. He sheathed it again, pleased.

“That was way cool,” Katie whispered loudly to Celeste.

“And you are way weird,” her friend said, stifling a giggle.

“I know.”

“Ladies, please,” said the Keeper, sobering them instantly. “Celeste, I need you to stay under that tree, no matter what you see, no matter what happens. And Katie, stay close beside her. Both of you must watch diligently and under no circumstances – ” he paused to give them a look so stern it almost made them tremble, “ – regardless of what you see and how frightening it may appear – are you to look away, or to stop listening and observing with every fiber of your heart and souls. Do you understand?”

They nodded, completely serious now.

“Good. Cian, come with me.”

They walked to what was apparently the center of the meadow, and the Keeper turned to Cian. “I will summon Moloch now, and then I must leave this place. Are you ready?”

“I – yes, but when, how will you know when to come back?”

“I’ll know, boy. Trust that.”

Cian said he would; he took a deep breath, looking down, and closed his eyes, waiting.

In a harsh voice that none of them had heard the Keeper use before, the Guardian of the Hub of Time called out the name of the demon, and demanded his presence as agreed. As soon as the sound of his call died away, he turned and walked swiftly back toward the place where he’d opened the rock. Neither Katie nor Celeste saw where he went, so intently were they watching Cian, and the boy himself hadn’t moved an inch.

The moments seemed to tighten, pulled into something on the verge of snapping apart, and then….

With a sudden whoosh of hot air, a red glow bathed everything with bloody brightness and there, towering over Cian like a living nightmare, stood Moloch. In this incarnation, its skin gleamed orange, its massive head sporting two curved, black horns, its mouth so full of serrated metallic teeth that it couldn’t close, its eyes slits of flame. It roared down at the boy, hands fisted, each fist bigger than Cian himself. “SO YOU HAVE DARED TO FACE ME?! WHO HAS TRICKED YOU INTO THIS INSANITY, LITTLE BOY?!”

Words, soothing words of power and hope, words of brilliant confidence washed through Cian and he unsheathed the sword, turning the motion into a swing that went straight across in front of him in one fluid movement.

Moloch roared in pain and shock. How had this mere mortal been able to wield that Sword – that hated, dreadful Sword and its blinding light – and do so with such ease and strength? Had this mortal been underestimated after all? “YOU ARE NOTHING!!!” the spirit shrieked, its voice so huge it seemed to flatten the very air.

Another phrase – one about the value of human life – rose quickly into the boy’s mind and he slashed upward this time, causing Moloch to stumble backwards, screaming like the heart of a tornado. It looked down and saw with utter disbelief a black gash running diagonally up its glowing torso. “YOU LITTLE MANURE-FACED BASTARD!” it hollered.

Cian had been called that before, and it almost made him hesitate, but then another word came to him – “masterpiece.” That was what the children of the Father were called, and with fierce joy, he swung the Sword in a masterful downward stroke, causing another, longer laceration on Moloch’s belly that crossed the first one.

Moloch began to wail and rage, thrashing about as flames shot from its eyes and mouth.

Cian stepped closer, waiting. This, he knew, was far from over.

 

*******

 

As soon as the spirit-being had made its impressive appearance, Celeste had begun playing. She started with the wordless Songs simply because she was too cowed by what she was seeing to use her voice. Beside her, Katie swallowed hard to keep herself from gasping aloud. Had the Keeper used the word “frightening?” That hardly even began to describe what they were watching. With Cian’s first sword-stroke, both of the girls had felt something horrible creeping up to them from all around; this must be what the music was supposed to ward off, and Celeste resisted a desire to closed her eyes, concentrating instead on what Celesta had told her about how to know which Songs were needed and when. The second she changed to a more dissonant tune, the feeling of encroaching darkness began to diminish.

In the distance, they saw Cian slash at the creature after it had insulted him, and Katie put her fist in her mouth to keep from audibly reacting. The stupid thing was so big, and Cian had wounded it. That couldn’t be good for Cian, she thought, but acknowledged that not fighting it would be even worse.

 

*******

 

The creature seemed to draw in a sudden deep breath, and as it exhaled flame, it screamed, “BURN, YOU USELESS CHILD! SACRIFICE YOURSELF TO ME!!!”

As far as the girls could see, the flames washed over Cian without so much as singeing his hair. But to Cian, the sensation was quite different. He felt the searing pain of fire on his skin, saw his hands blister as they held the Sword, the skin eventually burning away until only blackened bones were clutching the hilt. But Cian had spent six years being hurt and not giving the ones meting it out the satisfaction of so much as a whimper. So, to Moloch’s annoyance, he made no sound as he remembered Michael’s warnings, and despite the evidence of his eyes, evidence that said those black, skeletal hands were now crumbling to ash, he continued to clutch the Sword firmly, his mind fighting through the pain to the words of the Scroll:

Do not commit me unto the appetite of the beast who is mine enemy! For indeed, a fabricated reality – that is only false – has been made a witness against me by the one who breathes out violence for his own unjust gain.

A quick double slash directly across Moloch’s midsection nearly cut the creature in two. The evil being couldn’t believe it – how was this insignificant little boy managing to harm it like this? Frustrated, furious, and filled with fear over what it knew its Master would say and do, Moloch raised both fists, howling helplessly at the small being standing on the meadow below, that dreadful Sword still in his hands.

This was not the Hub, however, and Time did not stop; Moloch knew the boy would eventually have to grow weary; all it needed to do was continue, trying different tactics, until eventually it found one that the annoying human couldn’t resist. It tried more pain, but again, this had little or no effect. Next came pleasure, but the boy gritted his teeth and lashed out furiously with the Sword, this time wounding Moloch’s legs and groin. So it went to fear – always a show-stopper – and tried to convince him that other creatures of darkness had overwhelmed the little females and devoured them, but somehow, the boy seemed ready for that one, too.

In the way that human life reckoned time, several hours passed as Moloch maintained its onslaught, every attack more filled with fury and hatred than the one before, yet still the boy fought back with an arsenal of agonizing truths that caused a growing number of devastating gashes on the demon’s manifested body, all of which went far below the surface of spirit-manufactured flesh and into the very core of Moloch’s being. These were the wounds that were slowly destroying it. It would have to do something new…

 

*******

 

“What’s happening?” Celeste asked. Her eyes were dry, her lids heavy with exhaustion, making it difficult to see, and she was worried. If she was this tired from nothing more strenuous than singing and playing music, how must Cian feel after all this time? The evil being had given him no rest that she could tell, and while her hands ached a bit, she had to wonder how his arms and back felt – all of him, in fact, since he was probably using every muscle in his body to fight that thing.

“Moloch’s been wounded again,” Katie said, sounding satisfied. Her own eyes were beginning to feel strained, but basically all she’d been doing was sitting there, watching and saying encouraging words, so had more energy than her friend. She couldn’t figure out how Cian was able to continue what he was doing, though. He seemed to have an endless supply of strength – she knew it had been at least three or four hours since the battle had begun, and still he moved like lightning, graceful, unflinching.

At one point, she’d felt something cold, clammy, and altogether unpleasant brush against the back of her neck, but she’d swatted it away with an angry gesture and told Celeste to sing. It had worked beautifully; apparently, these lesser spirits were unable to resist the power of her friend’s voice, and had slunk quickly away.

They could hear Moloch’s nasty words, but Cian never spoke. He’d had been warned by Michael during his training not to speak, but to let the Sword answer every time, and thus far, it had been working.

“Wait – what is he doing?”

“Who?”

“The Evil Dude,” Katie said sourly. “It……geez, it’s getting smaller!”

Celeste leaned forward, squinting. “Wow, yeah, and it’s changing how it looks. . . uh-oh. Remember how Cian described that nightmare he had?”

Katie nodded – she, too, recognized the metamorphosis taking place on the meadow.

“Oh, Lord, Celeste, you’d better sing a lot.”

“No, I’m going to play while both of us start reciting the Scroll as loudly as we can.” Like Katie, she had sensed this was something different, something worse, and while she didn’t believe she needed to use the silver string yet, something radical did have to be done.

They began to speak as loudly as they could, the notes of the Harp providing background music. If Cian could hear them, he gave no indication, but they had to believe he did. If not, then why had they been made to memorize those words?

TWELVE

 

Water and echoes, washes of sound, darkness. The Keeper felt, sensed and saw no difference with his eyes open as he did with them closed. He sat in the boat, allowing the ebb and flow of his surroundings provide an inner silence to quiet his fears. Much time had passed since he’d left the Meadow. At the Hub, he never felt its passage, but when on Earth, its forward motion felt alive. When enhanced by worry, the sense of it was almost overwhelming.

“How much longer, Celesta?” he whispered, his voice disintegrating in his own ears as the strange resonances of the cavern gathered the syllables and disbursed them into its vast space.

Music came to him then, starting as a hum in the core of his thoughts, then whirling outward into a spiral galaxy of notes, each one a spark of understanding. When it faded, he had his answer: wait. Soon, not yet, but pray. Darkness has found a flaw….pray…

 

*******

 

Moloch had stopped raging, blinking its fiery eyes a few times, then began to grow smaller, stopping when it was, as in Cian’s dream, the sleek-haired swell in a bad suit. This time, it carried a serpent-headed cane, which it used as a prop to lean on casually as it spoke, gazing at the back of the fingernails of its free hand.

“I really feel sorry for you, boy,” it drawled in a pseudo-aristocratic accent. “You’re so pathetic! I mean, who told you that you really belong to, well, you know. Do you honestly believe you’re one of His children?”

Cian, physically exhausted, fought back against an encroaching mental fatigue to find the right words from the Scroll to answer this. He’d need two phrases, because the first question had been. . .what? Why couldn’t he think? And. . .of course he belonged to the Enemy of Moloch; otherwise, why – and how – could he be here? Forgetting himself in the overwhelming, soul-draining weariness of the moment, he looked back at the vile creature and asked aloud the same question he’d asked himself. As soon as he did, the Sword became unexpectedly too heavy to hold upright, forcing him to let its tip drop slowly toward the ground.

Moloch’s eyes lit with a burst of flame and it stopped gazing at its nails. Leaning closer, it hissed, “You silly, silly little boy. Don’t you see? Haven’t you figured it out yet? NONE OF THIS IS REAL!!!” It shook its head and leaned back against a brick wall that had appeared behind it out of nowhere. It tossed the cane upward, the object vanishing as Moloch continued, “Your foster-mother left you to die, remember?” It smirked, putting its head back against the wall and gazing upward. “Poor little Cian – everyone deserts him. First his brothers go away, their essence stolen by a fever (it was the closest I could get to having them sacrificed to me in the fire); then Mommy and daddy abandon him in a strange land. And then his new Mommy and daddy get themselves murdered, leaving him alone once more and at the mercy of their killer, the evil Mrs. Pettijohn; and finally, she deserts him, hoping he’ll starve to death. Oh, me.” It had said all of this in a mocking voice brimming with false pity. It pushed itself away from the wall and took a step closer to the boy, its expression becoming one of total disgust.

Cian stared dully at Moloch as he kept searching for the right words and wondering what had suddenly gone so wrong – a few minutes ago he had been winning, and now he could barely stand upright, much less wield the sword he was leaning on to keep himself from falling. He detected another sound, too, underscoring the voice of Moloch and his own inner words, but couldn’t explain it or recognize its source. Words of some kind. . .

“You poor, stupid moron!” said the demon, sounding incredulous. “Look, idiot, you were too weak from hunger even to get up and drink some water from that disgusting toilet, so you got severely dehydrated, and now you’re very close to death. You’ve begun to hallucinate! There is no Celeste, no Katie, no Keeper – where ever did your feeble brain come up with that one? And there’s no – oh, I’m sorry. Is this too ‘Jacob’s Ladder’ for you? Or no, wait, that’s before your time. Now there’s a good one! Uh, maybe. . . ‘The Sixth Sense’? Ooh!” It waggled its thick fingers in front of the boy’s eyes. “I see dead people! No, wait, not people – I see you!”

Cian’s breathing grew ragged, and he felt his knees begin to buckle. “How – how could I have made all this up?” he managed in a half-whisper, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“Aw, look, kid, don’t take it so hard. What you need right now is a nice, long nap, yes? And how about a cool glass of fresh spring water?” Moloch raised its hand, palm upward, and a glass appeared in it filled with clear, sparkling liquid.

He who has true belief concerning me, inasmuch as the Writ of power had told, out from his own heart will run fresh rivers of the waters of life.

He felt a tiny bit better for having remembered that, but before he could push himself back from the Sword in order to try lifting it, Moloch lashed out with a fist and hit him hard in the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

“Don’t tell me you still think you can win this!” exclaimed the fire-eyed creature through a harsh laugh. “You’re no different from anyone else of your kind – and you’re almost dead! That weakness you feel is the life slipping away from your pathetic body.”

Cian rolled onto his stomach, and from the position he was in, it wasn’t clear whether or not he still held the Sword.

Moloch kicked him viciously in the ribs. “DIE, YOU DIM-WITTED, BRAIN-DEAD PIECE OF WASTE! YOU CANNOT DEFEAT ME! I AM MOLOCH, THE FIRE GOD WHO CONVINCED THOUSANDS OF FOOLISH PARENTS TO OFFER THEIR CHILDREN TO ME THROUGH THE FLAMES OF SACRIFICE! SO WHO ARE YOU TO TRY AND STAND AGAINST ME? DIE!”

Cian groaned, tried to get up, but collapsed to the ground and lay still.

 

*******

 

“Celeste, do you see that? Oh, no, please, Cian get up!” Katie was on her feet, frantic. “And don’t drop the Sword!”

“This can’t be happening,” Celeste muttered, horrified. “I – Katie! What can we do? I’ve played everything I know, we’ve been reciting the Scroll like crazy, and it’s only getting worse!”

Katie bit the fisted knuckles of one hand, drawing blood. What could they do? What could they possibly do? Cian was being destroyed before their eyes and – “Celeste!” she screamed. “The – the final Song! The string! The silver string! Now, Celeste, please!”

Her friend nodded; as bad as things had looked before, they looked pretty much impossible now, and she could see no other choice. Taking a deep breath, she began the notes of the final Song of Light, her voice lifting to be heard above the music. She sang it with every remaining ounce of energy she had, and when she got to the very last note, carefully curling her right index finger around the center string, she stared at the spot on Moloch’s forehead that was dead center between its horrible eyes. Drawing the string back like the string of a bow, she paused a second, then released it, released the sound like an arrow straight at the being’s head.

A shock wave slammed into Moloch, throwing him back from where he hovered over Cian as he prepared to strike the final, fiery death-stroke, simultaneously pushing all the smaller demons out of the meadow completely. Behind the girls, the tree shuddered and its leaves fell around them, making a curtain that protected them from the tidal wave of sound.

The wave swept harmlessly over Cian, whose mind had still actively been seeking the right words. As it passed, it imparted energy to his worn out body. He found he could suddenly think more clearly, and realized that his right hand still clung tightly to the Sword.

I haven’t let go! he realized, encouraged. But the words . . .and then, there!

Slowly, obviously suffering from bone-draining fatigue, he got his feet under him and made himself stand up, raising the Sword once more. He swayed slightly but was able to look Moloch right in the eye.

“How do I know?” he asked, his voice breaking a little. “I know because I have read and memorized the whole Scroll, and I believe it!”

Words came flooding back to his mind, and once again he wielded the Sword, slashing and stabbing at the totally shocked and staggered demon; then the final words flooded his thoughts, words that he now believed with all his heart, and with a fierce light of triumph in his eyes, he used them for the final sword-stroke: You belong to and with the Supreme Magistrate, darling ones, and have thus prevailed, because of greater position and seniority is that one who is within you, than the one who is in and against this world! And pulling what remained of his strength from every corner of his being, Cian raised the Sword over his head, then swung it down forcefully as he executed a final, mighty slash which caused a very surprised-looking Moloch to shatter like a black light whose darkly gleaming fragments had lost all memory of cohesion.

The boy stood very still for a moment, staring at the pieces of what had been his enemy glittering sullenly in the twilight of the meadow. A slight wind arose a moment later, sweeping the pieces from the grass until not one remained. Cian sheathed the sword and turned toward the hill. He walked slowly over the meadow until he reached Celeste, who had hung the Harp carefully on a low branch of the golden tree as the silver leaves swirled back to their place on its branches.

She walked down low rise to meet him, seeing the near-total drain of energy in his eyes before he even reached her.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his words barely audible. “We need to leave here.”

Katie rushed over and threw one of his arms over her shoulder as he started to fall, and Celeste did the same with the other.

“Where’s the exit?” Katie sobbed, looking around through the eerie stillness.

A sudden flash of light, and the Keeper stood before them. “This way,” he said, helping the girls support Cian as they headed slowly toward the middle of the deserted meadow. Once there, he had them turn left, and within a few minutes, they were standing on the other side of the rock wall, back in Fingal’s Cave, listening to echoes and whispers that now sounded almost mundane.

“By the way,” said Katie, needing to distract herself from the fear for Cian’s life that constricting her heart, “what did those words mean that you used to open the rock when we first got here?”

“It was Gaelic for ‘there is no strength without unity.’”

They got Cian into the boat, Celeste sitting next to him to help him stay upright. When they emerged into the Sound, the stars were starting to fade with the advent of morning. Croghan steered the boat to Iona’s beach, and the three of them half-carried Cian along the pathway leading to the small hill with its ancient cairn. If anyone saw them, the stares went unnoticed; at least tourists hadn’t yet begun arriving on the Ferry.

By the time they reached the top of the hill, Cian could no longer walk or even stand, and his eyes refused to stay open. They got him through the portal as consciousness slipped away altogether, and laid him gently on the grey pathway in the Hub.

“What do we do now?” asked Celeste, fighting tears. “Is he going to be okay?

Croghan shook his head, deeply worried. “He won, but it took a lot more out of him than I ever thought it would.” He stared off down the pathway, thinking hard. Then he knelt down beside the boy and felt along the side of his throat for a pulse. It was there, but alarmingly faint. Croghan stood, looking desperate. “I was told this could happen…there’s only one individual I know of who can help him right now, but you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“I don’t like what’s happened to Cian,” said Celeste, slightly angry. “So you know what? Do whatever you have to do to make him whole again.”

“Good. Stay here.” He walked off toward the Hub, leaving them for what felt like forever. And maybe it was, because he didn’t return.

Amergin did. “I’m to take you two back to your own time,” he told Celeste without preamble. “Leave Cian – I’ll be back for him. He’ll be safe for now – no evil being would dare try to touch him after what he did to their General.”

“What’s going on?” asked Katie, not liking the look in Amergin’s eyes.

“H-he’s taking us back to our time, but not Cian.”

“The Keeper said to ask you if you had your…cell phone?” He shrugged.

Celeste nodded. “I guess Amergin doesn’t know how to drive,” she told Katie. “We’ll have to call my parents to pick us up from the Seaport.”

“Whatever.” She was extremely unhappy about these developments, but lacked the strength to do more than acknowledge it.

“What will happen to him?” asked Celeste, staring down at Cian who, for all intents and purposes looked dead.

“Croghan will bring him to my time, where he will instruct the healers to help him.” He smiled. “He has friends there, and I think his angel friends are allowing him a brief visit for all he’s done to help you and Cian defeat Moloch. Once I’ve got you two home, I’ll be returning to Tara to continue overseeing the boy’s care. His weariness is far beyond normal and it will take a very long time for him to recover. I’m not sure why…well, never mind. When he does, he’ll be returned to you.”

Celeste thanked him, but before she could translate all that for Katie, a familiar shower of liquid light brightened the pathway, crystallizing a few seconds later to reveal Michael.

“Cover your eyes,” he said, then went to Cian, raised the boy to a sitting position and removed the Sword of Light from the scabbard, switching it with the other sword at his own back. Then he gently lowered the boy to the ground again. “He may keep that one,” he said. “He certainly has earned it.”

The Archangel smiled at the astonished group and disappeared once more in his droplets of light.

“Let’s go,” said Amergin.

“Wait.” Celeste went to kneel beside Cian, bent down and kissed his mouth. A sob caught in her throat as she got back up.

Amergin raised an eyebrow at Katie, and she nodded, went over to Cian, and leaned over to kiss his forehead. As she did, she saw writing on the hilt of the sword protruding from behind his right shoulder. Her jaw dropped. She looked up at Amergin, the shock in her expression unmistakable.

“She’s heard of that sword?” asked Amergin, surprised.

“What do you mean?” Celeste said as Katie, still open-mouthed, joined them.

“The sword he’s been given – I did not realize that people of your Time would even know of it.”

“What are you talking about? What sword is it?” She turned to her friend. “Katie,” she said in English, “what does he mean by us having heard of the sword? What sword?”

Katie shook her head in wonder. “You know it, too, Celeste. I saw its name on the hilt.”

“What name?”

Katie took a deep breath, released it slowly and said, “Excalibur.”

EPILOGUE

 

For a full two weeks the boy lay, unmoving, on the healer’s couch. His breathing had gradually improved, but only in the last two days had it become something close to normal. The healer had never seen anyone so completely drained yet still alive, and was nearly at a loss as to how to help this young man. Amergin had charged him sternly with the task of reviving him, of making him well and strong again, and the healer, a slightly built, highly intelligent man named Eogan (who was also the chief Ollamh), had not dared argue. No one argued with Amergin, except his closest associates, and even they knew their limits.

Moving away from the window where he’d been standing, a bowl in one hand, glass stirring rod in the other, Eogan approached the couch, giving the dark liquid a last swirl. He sat on the small stool next to the slumbering boy and looked at him for a few minutes, marveling yet again at his strong, beautiful features. He didn’t want to think what would happen when he was awake and in view of the women.

With a sigh, Eogan slid a hand behind the boy’s shoulders and neck, lifting his head from the pillow and putting the edge of the bowl to his lips. “Come, now,” he whispered, “drink up, lad. I really don’t feel like cleaning this mess up if it all goes down your shirt.”

“Sorry,” the boy whispered back, startling Eogan so badly he almost dropped the bowl. Cian opened his eyes and stared blankly at the robed man holding the bowl up to his mouth.

“I can’t believe it!” Eogan breathed. “I really wasn’t sure you’d ever awaken, much less this soon!” He lowered the boy back onto the pillow and sat straighter, pleased.

Cian continued to stare, but then his gaze began to move around the room as he took in the strange surroundings. What happened? Where am I? And why do I have the strength a half-starved infant? His eyes stopped once more at the man beside him. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice hoarse and a little faint.

Eogan put his head to one side, frowning. The boy was speaking Gaelic, but the accent was somehow off. Well, no matter…“I am Eogan, Chief Ollamh of Tara, here to help you recover on the orders of the Bard Amergin. Who are you?”

“Cian M- uh, Cian, son of Dara from Tír Conaill. How, exactly, did I get...did you say Tara?”

“I did. Home of the Kings of Eire. You’ve heard of it, have you?”

“Who hasn’t?” Cian tried to raise himself to his elbows, but it was beyond his ability, and he sank back down into the cushions. “This – ” He almost said “sucks,” but remembered that he’d have to say it in English since the Celtic equivalent would have made no sense. “. . .is awful,” he ended instead.

“Well, if you’ll be kind enough to drink what’s in this bowl, I think you’ll find you feel a bit stronger.”

Cian let the man help him, and made himself swallow the unbelievably foul-tasting liquid, willing himself not to gag. And, to his complete surprise, felt energy surge through him within seconds of getting it down.

Eogan had been watching carefully; he could see the elixir take effect, and stood up, pleased. “I know it tastes like rabbit piss,” he said over his shoulder, taking the bowl to a nearby table, “but it contains a number of herbs that in combination can cure almost anything.”

After that, Cian’s strength began to return in earnest. He got up three days later and hobbled around the room, leaning on Eogan’s shoulder, and by the end of five could walk completely on his own. Amergin had come by once or twice to check on his charge, and was extremely pleased with his progress. By the middle of the following week, the bard had Cian outside practicing with one of his own swords, telling him it was probably the best way to regain all of his energy and abilities.

Because he had grown accustomed to practicing with a certain amount of pain and weakness when he was younger, Cian was able to build himself up to the same level of swordplay he had exhibited before the battle with Moloch. He had blissfully forgotten all about that encounter until three days into sword practice. When the memory hit him, he had stopped mid-stroke, turned, and left the practice ring. It took a while, but he eventually came to grips with everything, and his memories were fully intact by the end of the same week.

“I can see in your eyes that you not only recall what happened to you, but who else was involved, and it’s my guess that you’ll be wanting to go back soon,” Amergin told him after watching him practice one afternoon. He smiled and patted the boy’s shoulder. “Am I right?”

“You are, Amergin.”

“Thought so. But I was wondering if you’d perhaps do me a small favor before we return to the Hub.”

“Of course I will! Not only do I owe you much, I also admire you a great deal, and feel it would be an honor to help you in some way.”

Amergin considered the boy for a moment, astounded by his humility and thinking it a pity he had to go back at all, but then shut out the thought as being traitorous and told Cian about a band of brothers who had been raiding their herds. “They’re frightfully proficient swordsmen, lad, but I think you could put them straight.”

Cian thought about that for a moment or two. “Would I have to kill them?” He knew how he’d answer if the man told him “yes.”

“Only if you really wanted to, or had no choice,” Amergin replied. “What I’d like, of course, is to get them in front of the Brehons and have things settled that way. Think you could just, er, injure them a bit, maybe disarm them or something so we can take them to judgment?”

“I honestly don’t know. How many are there?”

“Five.”

“Five. What makes you believe I’m capable of handling that many at once?”

Amergin gave him a crooked smile, crossing his arms. “You mean aside from the fact that you took on – and defeated – one of the biggest demons in history?”

“I had a lot of help,” Cian pointed out.

“To get you prepared, yes. But aside from the music that kept back interference, the rest was all you. Besides, lad,” he added with a wink, “I’ve never in my whole life seen anyone move so damn fast with a sword.”

Cian was surprised. Wasn’t the way he fought the same as that of every other swordsman? “I don’t understand.”

Now it was Amergin’s turn to be surprised. “You think the way you handle that thing is normal?”

The boy shrugged. “I guess. Many different people taught me sword strokes and such, but I’ve never actually had to use it against anyone – human, anyway – and well, I don’t know how other people do this. I did a lot of practicing on my own when no one was around and assumed you had to be quick. Was I wrong?”

Amergin laughed aloud at that. “Tell you what, boy, we’ll use weapons of wood and do some sparring, you and I. And I’m no mean swordsman.”

Remembering his session at the karate school, he wondered if perhaps Asian swordplay was different from this. He soon found out. Amergin got two thick wooden swords and handed one to Cian, who immediately recognized the wood as ash, like the one he’d carved from the old baseball bat. It gave him a very odd feeling.

“Balance good?” asked the older man, swishing his own through the air in front of him.

Cian made a few experimental swings, feeling its weight – the balance was perfect. “Good,” he confirmed.

And before he could say anything else, the warrior-bard attacked, bellowing. Cian blocked him easily, and within seconds the man was lying on the ground, the edge of the boy’s wooden blade at his throat.

Around them in the small courtyard, men who had been busy going about their various tasks had stopped to watch, fully expecting the battle-seasoned Amergin to make short work of this boy. Now they stood, open-mouthed in shock and complete disbelief at the sight of this powerful man lying on his back at the mercy of the attractive young stranger.

Amergin looked from the blade resting on his windpipe to Cian and back, and burst out laughing. “I knew it, boy! You’ll do fine!”

Cian withdrew the blade and put out a hand to help the man to his feet. “If you say so,” he replied, part of him thinking that perhaps the Druid had made it easy for him. “So when am I to do this?”

“Tonight wouldn’t be too soon. Come. I’ll show you where the cattle are kept and we’ll figure out where you can lie in wait for them.”

The place turned out to be a vast, lush green sweep of land enclosed by wooden fencing with a wide gate for the cattle to pass through. From what Cian could see, there were about a hundred head or so grazing in the peaceful, patchy sunlight.

“We had twice as many a month ago,” Amergin told him, leaning his arms along the top of the fence. “The King is getting a little irritated.”

“The King?”

“Well, my brother – Eber Finn. They’re his cattle, which he shares with the people.”

They decided Cian was to wait behind a large stand of bushes; he could sit and relax until nightfall, then would have to be on his guard, especially since no one had been able to figure out by what means these brothers had crept into the enclosure. Amergin explained that they had chosen this particular night because the moon would be full, making it much easier to see the miscreants.

“But won’t that be all the more reason for them not to come?”

“Hasn’t stopped them before,” replied the Druid dryly. “I’ll have some food and drink brought out for you in a little while, and then you’re on your own. By the way, that’s quite an impressive sword.”

Cian had gone to pick it up at the House of the Learned, the name (he was told) of the building in which he’d been staying, and Amergin had been compliant about helping him strap it on. The Irish sword was generally half the size of the one Michael had given him, something Amergin had pointed out once the boy was lucid enough to understand. Cian, however, had not recognized the name etched in the hilt, so felt no sense of awe in its presence.

After watching Cian execute some practice swings with it to get used to its feel once more, Amergin was surprised that the boy had not only the strength to wield it, but the ability to do so with such ease.

As the sun began to set that evening, Cian watched the shadows, making sure the one from the bushes would be large and dark enough to hide him when he stood up. In the meantime, he peered through gaps between the leaves; this limited his field of vision somewhat, but he could still see a good number of the cattle. They had stopped grazing for the most part, and some were lying down.

As the sky darkened further, Cian drew his sword and got to his feet. He stood very still, watching all sides of the enclosure which he estimated to be at least ten acres, based on his recollection of the size of his father’s property in Tír Conaill. The moon began its ascent, huge on the horizon and cream-colored. He looked down at the crossed braided straps on his chest to find the rubies embedded in them were catching only some of the light – the last thing he needed was a fancy scabbard-holder giving him away. At least the weapon looked less out of place now. He’d been given a tunic, and leggings which were laced onto his legs by the long leather straps holding the sandals on his feet, an outfit that definitely worked better with the whole sword thing than his twenty-first century jeans and sweatshirt. And one, he had to admit, that he found far more comfortable than its modern counterpart.

A movement caught the corner of his right eye, and he turned in time to see what looked like a large dog scamper behind one of the cattle. But dogs rarely wore swords, and the glint of metal had been unmistakable.

With great care to remain silent, he crept out from behind the bushes. The only way these men were going to get the beasts out was through the main gate; Amergin and the others had checked the entire length of fencing to be sure no part of it had been cut to provide an invisible exit. So he waited as four more men entered, and sure enough, within a relatively short time, a small number of the cattle began moving noiselessly in his general direction. A few minutes later he could see why they were making no sound – the thieves had covered their eyes with cloth and had shut the animals’ mouths with soft rope made of some white material.

Cian could see that he was taller than all of the men, but wasn’t sure whether or not that even mattered. What did matter were the swords at their belts and how well they could use them.

Time to find out.

“Good evening, sirs,” he said, stepping out and blocking them, the broad swath of moonlight behind him, casting his face in shadow as it washed over the enclosure.

They stopped, startled. Between his greater height, indistinct features, and silent if sudden appearance, Cian was giving them serious cause for alarm.

They stared at him for a moment, but then one of them began to laugh. “Is this a joke?” he said. “Don’t tell me the great Amergin sent you out here by yourself to stop us!”

“He did.”

Now the others joined in the laughter, albeit quietly. And then they grew deadly serious, all of them drawing their swords and starting to surround the boy.

Great. Nice odds. . . .well, here we go.

Cian raised his sword, holding it easily in one hand, the other out slightly to one side for balance.

The men charged, and Cian began to fight. With strokes too fast to be seen as more than a silvery blur, he met every blade with his, the clanging of metal on metal making an almost musical sound. He grinned, and fought on, turning aside one sword after another, smacking one man hard on the side of the head with the flat of his blade so the man dropped, unconscious, to the grass.

“Four,” he muttered, pivoting about to keep one of them from getting behind him. As he came back around, he caught one of the men’s wrists with the sharp side of his blade. The man screamed and dropped his sword, clutching the wound.

“Three.”

“You bastard!” one of them yelled, seeing what had happened to his brother, and no longer caring if anyone nearby could hear.

“My parents were married, thank you,” said the boy pleasantly, barely winded by his exertions. “How about yours?”

One of his sword-masters in another century and place had told him that if you could get your enemy angry enough, he would probably start making stupid mistakes. His sword-master had been right. The man bellowed and charged, sword up over his head, leaving his chest completely unprotected. Cian pulled the side of his sword across the man’s torso and leaped out of the way – he wasn’t trying to kill, only wound.

The man doubled over, yelling in pain.

“Two.”

“He’s actually counting!” one of the remaining two brothers shouted at the other, outraged.

They both charged.

A second later, they were both on the ground, one with a deep slice in his upper arm, the other – having been struck in the jaw with the pommel of the sword – on his back with Cian’s sword tip at his Adam’s apple.

“None.”

“Now what’ll you do, boy? Have the animals tie us up with their tails?”

Tilting his head to one side like he was considering this, Cian said, “That might work.” He smiled, raised his head and called loudly, “AMERGIN! NOW!”

At first they could hear nothing, but as the one who had been cut on the arm was about to conclude aloud that the boy was obviously alone, six men topped the rise near the gate and entered the enclosure, swords drawn.

Amergin looked around at the moonlit carnage and patted the boy on the back. “I knew you could do it!” he whispered fiercely.

The five other Druids were getting the brothers to their feet amid loud complaints about their wounds and demands to know who this spawn of hell was who’d defeated them so easily.

Cian shook his head and walked over to the brother who had said this, and whose hands were now tied securely behind his back.

“Spawn of hell?” he said.

The would-be thief looked up at him sullenly, but the clear light of the moon caught the boy full in the face, and the man’s expression changed to one of wonder.

“I’ve met a true spawn of hell,” said Cian quietly, ignoring the man’s reaction, “and believe me, I’m not one of them.”

Speechless, the man let himself be led away quietly, and Cian walked back to Amergin.

“Thank you, lad,” said the Druid. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“I appreciate you saying that, sir, but I do. At one time I may have stayed, and been delighted to do so, but, I, uh, I really don’t belong here. And besides,” he smiled now as he continued, “there are some people I would miss far too much.”

“One in particular, I think, eh?”

Cian blushed and looked down. “Yeah. One in particular.”

Amergin clapped him on the shoulder. “Get some sleep. At sunrise, I’ll wake you and we’ll go to Dún Fhearghusa. We’ll stop for a while to visit with our old friend, the Keeper, then I’ll take you home.”

The next day, his modern clothes bundled up under his arm, sword strapped to his back, Cian walked with Amergin across part of Ireland, reveling in its beauty, already melancholy at the idea of leaving it again, but joyful with anticipation. Celeste. God, how he missed her! He wondered how long he would have been gone according to her time. He was now about a month older, which really wasn’t much, but it may have changed him enough for her to notice. He only hoped that any such change would be a positive one as far as she was concerned.

Newgrange, the modern name for Dún Fhearghusa, rose much higher then, erosion having had only a partial affect, but since Cian had never seen it in modern times, he didn’t notice. What he did notice was how impressive the structure was. It had been built so well that it looked brand new to his eyes. He decided that one day he’d return but in the twenty-first century to see how, if at all, it had changed.

Once inside, after being given entrance by a Druid who was standing guard at its door, they traveled down the amazing passage with its runic carvings until they reached the back. Amergin caused this barrier to dissolve into its golden mist, and they went through into the Hub.

The Keeper, eyes closed, mouth in a smile, was playing softly when they climbed the hill. The two waited until he opened his eyes and looked up. “Cian! You certainly look better than you did the last time I saw you! Amergin, thank you. You did a wonderful job.”

“He heals very quickly, Keeper,” said the Bard, kneeling.

“How are Celeste and Katie?” It was impossible for Cian to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“I don’t know. The last time I saw them, they were standing next to you on one of the pathways – Amergin led them to their portal, not I. But I would imagine they’re fine. I’m well, too, thanks for asking.”

Cian gave him a wry smile. “Sorry. I should have asked. Are you well?”

“Yes, my boy. Quite. Now listen.” Without putting down the harp, the Keeper leaned forward. “That sword you have – it will be needed again, and since Michael has given it exclusively to you as a gift, you are now the only one who may use it.”

Cian frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean. . .it has a name, Cian.”

“What – the sword?”

“Yes, the sword. It is called Excalibur, and when you get back to Connecticut I want you to go to the library and look it up, or have the girls help you find information about it online. Meanwhile,” he put one hand behind him, the other still stroking the strings, “give this to Celeste. It’s not as, well, it’s an ordinary harp.” He handed the instrument to the boy, who gave it a cursory glance.

“What happened to the other one?”

“Celeste left it on the Golden Tree, but Celesta retrieved it, and it shall remain in her keeping until such time as it might be needed again.”

Cian bit his lower lip, wondering about that and looking anxious.

“Yes, boy, when it is needed again, Celeste will be the one to use it. And you’ll be the one to use Excalibur when the time comes.”

Startled at the man’s use of tenses, he said, “When?! Keeper, what are you talking about?”

The man sighed. “The creature you defeated, who incidentally isn’t dead – it’s eternal, after all, but only shut away for the rest of Time – has been replaced by another, one more subtle and clever, more like its Master.”

“And?”

“And, well, for right now, neither this new General nor the Most Evil One wants to be bothered with you, so that isn’t the problem. However, there is much mischief afoot, and no one is sure where or in what manner it will be manifested.” The Keeper shook his head in disgust. “We’re all watching in our own way, but I have to warn you, lad, that a time is coming when you will be called upon once again to help. All those fancy titles Celesta gave you are more than ego-building designations. Do you remember them?”

“Um, yeah, but it’s a little embarrassing.”

“Then I’ll say them for you – Time Warrior, Sword-Wielder of the Light, Defender of the Balance. Perhaps you should give them a little more thought, Cian, especially the last one. Like it or no, you do have a destiny, one you must continue to fulfill.”

The boy nodded and looked around him at the pathways stretching in all directions, each containing countless portals. If he remembered correctly, the Keeper was the Guardian of the Balance, but now he, Cian, was its Defender. Knowing from the progress of his own life how easily that Balance could be tipped, he could readily understand the need for both.

“When I am called upon, I’ll answer and be ready,” he said, sounding like someone much, much older.

“Then I am content,” said the Keeper. “Amergin, my old friend, please return this remarkable young man to his home.”

“As you say,” the Druid answered, rising. “Come, Cian. It’s a bit of a journey to your portal.”

 

*******

 

“Mondays suck,” said Katie, dragging herself from the lockers as they prepared to go to English II class.

She and Celeste had been returned home late Friday night, emotionally and physically frazzled, but – to their parents’ relief – completely intact. Not until Saturday afternoon had Celeste been able to talk about what had happened, and then only through sporadic bouts of crying. Amergin had told her that Cian would probably be all right, but he’d looked so awful, so horribly….dead.

As for Katie, her mother didn’t want to hear anything at all about what had transpired, telling her daughter she was glad to have her home, and that was all that mattered. It was as though the woman’s natural sense of humor had left with Katie, but hadn’t bothered to come back. She had made Katie stay home all weekend, and the girls had needed to be content with brief phone conversations and the occasional text – they were too upset to talk for very long anyway, even to each other.

So as dreadful as Mondays were, the weekend had been even worse.

Celeste, walking beside Katie, said nothing. She was devastated. It had been too long, she felt. If Cian hadn’t been brought back by now, there was a good chance he never would be. And why? Because he had probably died. She gulped back more tears, wishing she could go home and hide under the covers forever.

When they reached the classroom door, Celeste hung back. “I – I think I’m going to see the nurse,” she said in a barely audible voice. “I can’t go in there, Katie. Not without – ” a sob lodged itself in her throat and prevented her from continuing.

“Oh, Celeste.” Katie understood. “I’ll go with you if you want.”

“Go where?”

The two girls turned, both gasping at the same time.

Without a word, Celeste threw her arms around Cian, holding him so tightly he could barely breathe. And it didn’t help that Katie was hugging both of them. Both girls began sobbing with relief, and he held them gently, biting back his own emotions at seeing them like this. Had they actually missed him as much as he did them, especially Celeste?

“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Farrell, coming to the door, “class is about to start. Think you might want to join us?”

The girls pulled away – reluctantly to be sure – both wiping their eyes.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Cian, his accent oddly more Irish than Southern drawl, “but would you mind terribly if we excused ourselves from class today? I would be ever so grateful.” He gave her a warm smile, and her knees almost buckled.

“Oh, uh, why of course, Mr. MacDara. Whatever, um, take as much time as you need – the homework will be on the board if you’d like to stop by later and copy it down.”

“You’re wonderful, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Ha! It’s nothing – nothing at all!” One hand fluttering over her heart, she went back into the classroom and shut the door.

The girls started to laugh through their tears as soon as she was far enough from the door to be out of earshot.

“Any idea how you do that?” asked Katie, almost herself again.

“None,” he answered honestly.

Celeste took a long, shuddering breath, finally under control. “You sound different. In fact, you look a little different, too. How long were you gone?”

“About a month is all, but I was speaking Gaelic the whole time. Sorry.”

“For what?” This was Katie, who found the extra Irish in his speech rather cute.

“Nothing. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

They chose the benches by the bike racks outside, several feet away from the bus area and far enough away from the school to avoid being overheard.

“What happened to you?” Celeste demanded once they were sitting.

The metal mesh benches were cold, and for once Cian was extremely glad he wasn’t wearing a tunic and leggings. “It took about two weeks before I woke up,” he said, “but then I seemed to get better rather quickly.”

“But where? Where did the Keeper take you?” Katie pulled the collar of her jacket closer. It was the beginning of March, and the real warmth of spring was still a long time away.

“To Tara in Amergin’s time. I was given some kind of elixir by their chief healer.” He gave a short laugh. “Said he knew it tasted like rabbit piss, and he certainly had the right idea. But it really worked.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his wool jacket. “I did wonder, though, how he knew what rabbit piss tasted like.”

“Cian!” Katie punched him in the arm, giggling at his remark. She was so filled with relief she was becoming giddy with it.

“Anyway,” he told them, grinning slightly, “that’s how I got better. Then Amergin had me help him stop some cattle thieves, and after that, he brought me to the Hub and then home.”

Celeste noted silently that he considered Connecticut his home, and not Ireland or Atlanta. Good.

“How is the Keeper?” she asked. “He went off to get Amergin, and that was the last we saw of him.”

“He’s fine, I guess. Oh, and he gave me a harp to give you to replace the other one. When I got to the portal in Mystic, I called Katie’s mother for a ride, but she said she had some kind of appointment, and had your mother pick me up instead and drive me here. I left the harp with her, which, uh, is what I really needed to talk to you both about.”

They gave him a puzzled look.

“Apparently, there will be times ahead when our, um, help will be needed again. When that happens, Celeste, you’ll be given back the one you used in the meadow. Meanwhile, Michael gave me this bloody great sword to hold on to for the same reason.”

“Excalibur, you mean?” asked Katie. “You do realize what you have, yes?”

“No. He told me to ask both of you, maybe go to the library and read about it. So no, I don’t have any idea what the huge flap is about this thing, except that it really is beautiful as swords go, probably the most perfect one I’ve ever seen or handled.”

Katie and Celeste exchanged a look. “You’ve never heard of King Arthur?” asked Celeste, a little incredulous.

“Or Gwenevere?” Katie added.

“Or Sir Lancelot?”

“The Round Table?”

“Merlin?” they said at the same time.

“Stop!” Cian put his hands over his ears, laughing. “I have no idea who you’re talking about, okay?”

Sitting on either side of him, the girls leaned forward in order to see each other, and nodded. “Mission!” they exclaimed simultaneously.

Cian groaned.

 

 

 

 

 

The End

For Now

Impressum

Texte: Judy Colella
Bildmaterialien: Lazslo Kugler
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 26.03.2014

Alle Rechte vorbehalten