Whisper of War and Storms (Heirs of Elydor #1)

Chapter 5

5

MEV

As we walked into a small storage room, Clara gave me a “you realize this is creepy as fuck” look, and I couldn’t disagree. But the fact was, as Jon pulled a string and illuminated the dusty old room, I had no choice but to explore this. The matching symbol. Jon’s expression at seeing the underside of my ring. Those were real, even if it felt like a dream.

“Sorry for all the dust,” he said. “Let me clear these off.”

“I’m a museum curator,” I told him as we helped wipe off old wooden crates and sat. Besides those and some boxes, the room was unremarkable if not thick with the scent of musky wood and faint herbs and spices. “I’m used to a little dust.”

“A museum curator, huh?”

“Specializing in ancient artifacts,” Clara tossed in, as if it mattered. It didn’t. Nothing mattered except whatever Jon was about to tell us.

“Which is why,” I said, the ring still in my hand, “this has been so frustrating. I should have been able to glean at least some information about it, but it proved to be a total dead end.”

“Until now,” he reminded me.

“Until now,” I agreed, glad Jon had decided to finally help me. Willing him to get to his story, I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t want to talk about my job, and he seemed to sense my impatience.

“The reason you didn’t find any clues is because…” He looked from me to Clara and then back again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the pub owner was nervous. “That ring isn’t from our world.”

“Wait? What?” Clara screwed her face up, looking at Jon as if he were crazy.

“Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right either.

“This is going to sound bonkers, but please bear with me. Though I do think it’s your mother’s story to tell.”

“She can’t. My mother remembers nothing about her time here.”

Jon seemed puzzled. “You meant that literally?”

“Quite literally. She remembers traveling to York, the apartment she rented, and her first few days here. But nothing else, except being in a pub, making her way out and into the streets in the middle of the night, and eventually finding her way back to the apartment and home to Boston.”

“Hmm. He must have somehow erased her memory. I don’t think that’s common, but certainly possible,” Jon muttered.

“Who’s he? Do you know who drugged her?”

Looking up, as if seeing me clearly again, Jon shook his head. “Your mother wasn’t drugged. We are not alone. There’s another world out there. The portal to it, to Elydor, is behind me.”

Clara stood up. “Mev, we really should?—”

“I’m staying,” I said, as firmly as I’d ever spoken to my friend. Sympathetic to her fear—Clara appeared decidedly pale all of a sudden—I nevertheless was going to hear him out. Even if it was clear Jon the pub owner was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

“Then I’m staying too,” she said, sitting back down. “No way I’m leaving you here alone.”

If Jon was offended by Clara’s insinuation, he didn’t let on. In fact, he seemed more worried than anything. If anyone should be worried, it was Clara and me, sitting in an empty storage room with a mad man. At least the bartender knew we were in here.

“I’ll start from the beginning. You can believe me, or not. But you asked, so here goes. This pub, once a tavern and inn, has been in my family for generations. It’s original owner, Edwin Harrow, opened it up in the thirteenth century.”

I thought quickly. York was a Roman city eventually settled by Angles, important to the Northumbrian kings. It went through a Viking period thanks to the “Great Heathen Army” and was later substantially damaged during William the Conqueror’s time. But it thrived during the Middle Ages, the Shambles evidence of the fact with some of those streets still surviving to this day. So a tavern in the late thirteenth century was possible.

“It was his son, Richard Harrow, who was proprietor where our story begins.”

“I really can’t wait to hear this,” Clara said, her disbelief evident.

Jon didn’t even acknowledge her and kept going. “As the story goes, he was carrying a grain sack past that very door”—he motioned to the door we’d used to come into the storage room—“when your father came through.”

“My father,” I repeated, “came through a portal? From another world?”

Jon nodded. “Back then, the Elydorians didn’t bother disguising their appearance, and apparently Richard was in for quite a shock. Imagine seeing an extremely tall man with long white hair wearing blue and silver robes with thread that appeared to glow, walk through a wall.”

“Yeah, I can’t,” Clara said, her tone bordering on hostile now.

“King Galfrid was as surprised as anyone, too. He told me the story once. It’s one of his favorites.”

Now it was my turn to voice more than a little disbelief. “I’m sorry. Did you say, king?”

“Yes. Your father is one of the most powerful men in Elydor, the King of Aetheria.”

Clara laughed. “I really do think we have to get going.”

I gave her a look. “That symbol was on my ring,” I reminded her.

“Sure,” she said. “But I’m not sure if you heard the first part of the story. He’s saying your father, the king of some strange-ass realm, walked through that wall”—her voice raised as she talked—“ and lived in the thirteenth century. But is your father. Think about that.”

I had, already, and didn’t disagree with her. Turning back to Jon for an explanation, I raised my brows.

“He’s immortal.”

Clara laughed again, and this time I was tempted to join her. Except, any amusement I might have felt was tamped down by a crushing disappointment. I’d actually thought, for a second, we were onto something.

“Everyone in Elydor is immortal, though they can be killed. Anyway,” he continued, as if telling us about the latest England football match, “after trying to open that portal for centuries, King Galfrid finally did it.”

“This is insane.”

“There’s a lot more story to tell, but bottom line… the portal between Elydor and our world remained open for hundreds of years. The pub, and its secrets, were passed down from generation to generation of Harrows, though I’ll be the last one to have seen it open. My kids know the story, but both were babies when it closed.”

“Closed?” I asked, despite myself. Clearly this man had a few marbles loose, but I was invested in his tale, nonetheless.

“Your mother came through, after she married your father, and asked that I send a letter to the States, telling some relative she was safe but would not be returning. I didn’t see her again after that, but from others that came through, I did learn she was pregnant with a baby girl, and that the new princess would be named Mevlida. I can only imagine how they knew the baby was a girl, even though you weren’t born, but didn’t ask. There were more pressing matters to talk about, namely rumors that the Gyorian king wanted to close the portal.”

“Hold on. You’re saying Mev’s mother was married to a king? In this other realm?” Clara’s incredulous expression was absolutely priceless. Yet she was asking questions anyway. I, for one, couldn’t speak.

“She was. Your mother was the Queen of Aetheria. She came here, looking for the portal, and found it. The Crooked Key, back in the day, was a haven for those with any sort of intuitive abilities. Over the years, whispers of another realm brought curious visitors, some with actual abilities and others, not so much. Anyway, I had no idea she came back through before it was closed. I thought after she asked me to deliver that letter she returned, and remained, in Elydor. She loved her husband, and the life she’d built there.” Jon wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his shirtsleeve. It was hot in here, and getting hotter by the minute.

“Could we maybe finish this story out there?” Clara asked.

Jon shook his head. “Obviously, I knew you wouldn’t believe me. So I wanted to show it to you.”

“Wait a minute,” I asked, my curiosity about the portal overshadowed by something. “You said someone wanted it closed. Who was he?”

“King Balthor.”

“But I thought you said Mev’s father was the king? What’s his name?” At this point Clara was simply amusing herself, pretending to believe Jon’s wild story.

“King Galfrid. There are four clans in Elydor. We’d call them kingdoms. Your father is the king of the Air Clan. Or at least, that’s what we call it on this side. Balthor is the King of Gyoria. We call it the Earth Clan. Obviously they don’t use that term because Elydor isn’t on Earth.”

“Obviously.” Clara’s eyes rolled so far back in her head, I thought they might get stuck there. I held back a giggle. This wasn’t funny, not even remotely so. But Jon’s story was so out there, and he seemed so very convinced it was true. I actually felt bad for him.

“Listen, I know how this sounds. Which is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. That and I took an oath. The same one I made my kids take, the same one my father gave me. But that”—he nodded toward my ring—“is an exception, to my way of thinking. You have a right to know.”

He sounded so damn sure of himself. So I played along.

“Why did the Earth king close the portal, exactly?”

Realizing how ridiculous my question sounded out of my mouth, I wanted to take it back.

“I assume it was him. There weren’t that many Elydorians powerful enough. He hates humans. Always has, since they began to come through. He hated that your father gave them land, bordering his own, which made it worse. He hated the humans’ brand of magic and how powerful they became, so quickly. But most of all, he hated them for bringing a disease to Elydor that killed his wife. His hatred of your father, and mother, was well-known. I would not be surprised to learn he was behind the portal’s closing, or even behind your mother being forced back through by him. She would have never returned, and stayed here, willingly. Never.”

“Killed his wife? I thought you said they’re immortal?” Clara sneezed. The dust was getting to her, obviously.

“They are. But they can be killed. According to the tales, though Elydorians are immune to most natural diseases due to their magical essence, rare celestial events, like the one that created Elydor in the first place, can temporarily make them vulnerable.”

One time, when I was in college, my English professor asked if I wanted to earn some extra cash. Though I was a history major, I was also really into writing and apparently BU got periodic calls from people asking for student editors. He put me in touch with a guy who wrote a book about being abducted by aliens. I finally met him in person the day I finished editing his manuscript. Clara worried about me meeting him, but I was too curious, wanting to see the guy who believed—100 per cent truly believed—he’d been abducted by little green men. No joke. His aliens were green, just like in the movies.

Jon, it seemed, fell into the same camp. And though I wanted it to be true, the whole story was just too much. I stood. “Thank you,” I said, certain now that my mother must have gotten this ring from the same circle of people who believed in a place called Elydor. Or maybe my father was one of them, like a cult leader. “We really do appreciate your time.”

Clara looked relieved to be leaving. She stood as well. “Yes, thank you for answering all of our questions.”

“Before you go, at least take a look at the portal. That way, if you do talk to your mother about this, you can tell her the truth.”

My mother. It hadn’t occurred to me for a second, but Jon seemed to think my mother would know, and believe, all this nonsense. It was true, Mom’s profession perfectly aligned with the idea of an immortal realm’s existence. Even if I couldn’t understand it, I never once doubted my mother’s abilities as a psychic. Had she been wrapped up with these people during her time in England?

Before either of us could respond, Jon pulled back a dusty wall tapestry to reveal a hidden door at one end of the tiny storage room. The wood was darker and more polished than anything else in the room, as if it couldn’t get dusty.

He opened it with a separate key chain from the one he’d used to bring us inside and didn’t wait for Clara and me to follow. We exchanged a look, and even though I’d been prepared to leave, as darkness swallowed Jon, I couldn’t resist. His tiny phone light bobbed down a narrow staircase. We followed, the air growing cooler and cooler with every step.

At the bottom of the staircase, a small chamber, otherwise nondescript except for an archway made of polished cream stone. Covered in intricate carvings of celestial symbols, its center looked much like the rest of the room, made of very earthly concrete. The archway though. It didn’t look like it belonged here at all.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like this. Whoever did these carvings was a master of his or her trade.”

“They’re incredible,” Clara said next to me, as enthralled as I was.

“That’s it. The portal. Closed now for twenty-eight years.”

Twenty-eight years. My age.

“Have you ever seen Elydor?” Clara’s question was clearly lip service. She didn’t believe Jon any more than I did, but he didn’t seem to take offense at her tone. I’d have kicked us both out of my pub by now, even if his story was make-believe.

“No. Humans can’t go through unless they already have some innate abilities already. Unfortunately, my family wasn’t blessed with any. Just regular old pub owners.”

Clara ran her hand along one of the carvings. “I’ll give you this. It honestly does look like it’s from another world.”

“Because it is. King Galfrid made it himself.”

King Galfrid. My father.

Ridiculous.

The urge to touch it, however, was strong. I gave in, as Clara had. Except, when I did, something happened. The cold stone came—and there was no other way to describe it—alive under my fingertips. I pulled my hand back.

Jon watched me carefully. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s hard to explain. Does it feel,” I asked Clara, “weird to you?”

“I’m not sure I’d use that word. It’s cool, and smooth. But weird?”

I did it again. This time, there was no denying something strange was going on. Each of the carvings began to illuminate. Their outlines took on a slightly blue glow.

“Holy shit.” I pulled my hand away, but the glow remained. For a second or two at least. And then it faded.

“That was really fucking strange,” Clara said, echoing my sentiments exactly.

I looked at Jon. His expression was similar to when he’d first seen my ring.

“What?” I asked. “What is it?”

Jon opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. He moved closer, touched one of the archway carvings, but nothing happened.

“Try it again,” he asked me.

I didn’t need any further prompting. It was as if the damn thing was calling to me. The urge to touch it was so strong that I was glad to comply. When I did, that same blue glow returned, and a humming filled my head. It was like being electrocuted, except not to such an extent. And it didn’t hurt. But there was definitely an… energy… in the carvings.

“It’s closed. That shouldn’t be happening.”

“Let me guess. That blue glow is what happens when the portal opens?” Clara’s question wasn’t laced with quite as much skepticism as before. Clearly, something was happening. Something unnatural.

“Yes. Exactly.”

“So if Mev wanted to go through, what would she do? Just walk straight into the wall?”

I pulled my hand away.

“You can’t go near it,” he said. “We have to figure this out.” He looked me up and down. “You said you’re a museum curator. Do you have any intuitive abilities? Like your mother?”

He knew my mother was a psychic. Well, of course he did. If nothing else, we’d established the two knew each other. Which reminded me…

“Do you know who took that picture?”

“My father. Every human who’s attempted to go through has been recorded. Though I’m not sure how she ended up with a copy, unless he took two. Or gave it to her for some reason.”

Remembering his question, I answered, “I don’t have any special abilities.”

Jon started pacing the room, muttering to himself. “I need to get my dad. He’s on holiday with my mum, but we have to get him back here. How long are you in York?”

Clara answered, their conversation muting into the background as the archway’s hum murmured in my ears. I took a step toward it. And then another. It called to me, and no part of me wanted to resist. Obviously, there was no portal to another realm. So what harm would there be in taking a few more steps?

I did, and quickly too, before Jon could stop me. Putting my hand out in front of me to touch the wall, I was about to tell my companions the portal was indeed still closed when it went straight through. I heard yelling from behind me; both Jon and Clara were screaming. But it was too late to turn back. I had to keep going. Unbelievably, I was walking through the wall, my entire body filled with the same hum, the same energy, as when I’d touched the carvings.

Darkness enveloped me.