Part Two
As I surveyed the room more closely, my gaze fell upon something that made me positively gape. In the center of the room stood a group of about eight or nine men, standing in a circle. Another man stood a little ways off, with his back to me, watching intently. I stared at them all, blinking and expecting them to disappear every time I did, but they didn’t. They just stood there silently with their heads bowed and eyes closed, and I noticed they all wore ridiculously long robes and had varying lengths and shades of whitish-gray beards.
I began to wonder if they were alive, and so cautiously stood (as you no doubt remember, I had been huddled on the ground as protection from the wind; just thought I’d mention it again for those of you who didn’t pay quite as close attention). The faint rustling of my clothes failed to grab their attention, so I made a polite yet pointed cough.
At that, it was as if the release had been pushed. The men whipped around to face me, and I froze at their suddenness. We all stood there for a minute, them with shocked looks on their faces and me with a bemused, wary expression no doubt, until one of them broke the silence.
He was the youngest of the group, and he looked to be about thirty-five, with brown hair and a neat goatee. My first sense of him was fairly impressive; however, when he yipped (there’s really no other way to put it) in excitement, “It’s him!” I immediately lost any sort of respect I might have otherwise given the man.
“Why is he not in the circle?” demanded the man who had been on the fringe of the group.
“It matters not!” said a squat one. “He has come!”
I frowned. “You were expecting me?”
“Of course,” said the young one. “We summoned you, did we not?”
“Erm…”
A very ancient man stepped forward. “Where did you come from, O great and mighty warrior?”
I gave him my best dubious look. “What’d you just call me?”
“He speaks with a particularly flat tone,” observed one of the men.
“Well yes,” I said, mildly exasperated. “I’m from the States. I’m just visiting the U.K., you know.”
“Are you recording this?” one of the men asked the lone man, who had produced a piece of parchment and a quill and was busily scratching something down. He nodded briefly.
“Note his clothes, too,” said the squatty one, who had come closer. I unconsciously backed away at the group’s slow yet deliberate approach. “His tunic is unusual, and is entirely black.” He was pointing at my T-shirt with a gnarled finger.
The youngest one strode forward and impudently fingered my jeans. “His breeches are of a coarse and different material.” I backed away and felt myself hit stone; I was against the wall.
Squatty was staring unabashedly at my face now. “Hair is also black, and growing in an unusual way.” He reached out a hand to brush away the side bang that covered most of my eyes, but I nervously batted his hand away. He didn’t seem to care, and continued with his diagnosis.
“He looks to be fairly young,” he said. Scratch, scratch, scratch, went the quill, and I finally had enough.
“Will someone please tell me what the heck is going on here?” I demanded, and the room fell silent.
“His voice intones his youth,” whispered a fellow with a tufted beard to one of his colleagues, and I snapped.
“First of all, I am fifteen!” I snapped, for after all what fifteen-year-old likes being called young? After all, you’re probably driving, given the fact that you actually passed the test and haven’t had your privileges suspended by your parents because you almost crashed head-on with an oncoming car. Not that I would know anything about that. And another thing, when you’re fifteen you’re only three years away from being an official adult, so to get all that gumph about being young is old and wearing.
The men started and withdrew as if the animal they had been poking at had suddenly bitten them and now they were wondering why. I merely continued my rant; I was really fired up now. “Secondly, my hair is black because I’ve dyed it black. It’s really brown if you have to know. And this is the style I like, all right? My mom already doesn’t like, don’t you get on my case, too. And finally,” pointing to my jeans, “this is denim!”
“He has an angry tone,” Squatty remarked to the quill-wielder.
“But the age still bothers me,” whispered someone else.
“Hey!” I yelled. “What is going on here? Why are you all weird and where am I? How’d I get here in the first place? And how do I get back?”
“I shall explain it all,” said the ancient one, leaning on a staff as gnarled as he. He had an impressively deep, baritone voice that fitted his look well. “My name is Ilaus,” he said, “and I am a wizard.”
Here he was interrupted by my bark of laughter. “Oh sure. Merlin, right? And this is King Arthur’s court.”
“Silence!” snarled another man—or wizard, as they no doubt called themselves. I shrugged to show that he didn’t intimidate me, but kept quiet to hear the batty old codger out (that’s British, that is).
“We are all wizards,” Ilaus said, gesturing at the others, “except for Dewlan; he is our secretary.”
“Of course,” I said patiently. Inside, I was trying desperately to figure out exactly where I was and how I could return to the tower. Obviously, these were a bunch of nutcases who had too much time on their hands and too much Tolkien to read.
Ilaus continued. “This fair land is Ferrumara, and we are in need of a champion; a Warrior. Hence, you have been summoned.” Here a fair bit of mumbling burst out, but subsided at motion of Ilaus’ hand. I yawned, covering my mouth politely.
“You are here to represent our kingdom in a duel against the champion of the sorceress Malison.”
These guys were very thorough, I had to give them that. They had come up with the names and everything. I decided to cut them off right now before they got too engrossed in their tale for naught.
“That’s nice and all, sirs, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to find someone else to battle what’s-her-face. I’ve got to get back to my family.” I started inching along the wall, hoping to stumble upon the door leading out of here. “Great job on the setting, though,” I added encouragingly; after all, the poor fellows had really gone to a lot of trouble to make their outfits and even the room seem as realistic as possible, and who was I to dishearten their noble endeavors?
“You cannot leave yet,” Ilaus said imposingly, blocking my slow progress with his cane. “You must hear us out.”
“We must bring him to the king!” said another man.
“I shall explain your situation on the way,” Ilaus decided. “Come with us.”
“No thanks.” My answer was prompt and decisive. I wasn’t going to get mugged by a bunch of elderly medieval fanatics who thought they were all fairy-wizards and such. “I’ve really got to get back.”
“You can’t,” Ilaus replied shortly. “We’d have to send you, and we cannot do that until your duty has been done.”
“Sure. And my duty’s leaving, right?”
“With us,” Ilaus said firmly, blocking me again from an attempted escape.
“I do not think he is the one,” the squat one ventured. “His immaturity bespeaks his lack of experience. Besides, his stature is not impressive.”
I rounded on him, teeth gritted and sharp reply ready. But Ilaus slapped a hand on my shoulder and stolidly dragged me away.
“Listen,” I said desperately. “I really would love to see your show, but my mom is going to loose all hell if I don’t return and let her know I’m okay; seriously, you don’t want to see her upset. I can come back later.” Which was true; I could technically return after checking in with my parents. Could and would are two different things, however, and I had no intentions of enacting the latter.
“Lad, are you so thick-minded that you still do not comprehend?” Ilaus demanded impatiently.
I drew myself up stiffly. “Now you’re just being insulting.”
“The lad needs proof,” said the one with the quill, Dewlan. “Give it to him and let it cease his prattling!” I glared at him, wishing he had kept his lip zipped.
“Very well then,” Ilaus said, dragging me by my arm to a window. “Look!”
I peeked out to find myself staring down at a courtyard a story below. My jaw just about unhinged as I stared below.
It was completely different from the bailey I had entered through before; it was much larger, cleaner, and it was alive with motion. People dressed in authentic-looking medieval garb swarmed around, cooking, herding, talking, laughing and working. The air was mixed with different odoriferous smells that made me gag. Instead of the overcast skies that I had seen when arriving, the sun was shining brightly down, looking for all the world like a warm summer day. When I looked further away, I could see houses and fields of grain beyond the castle walls instead of the overgrown grass and the road where the bus was to pick us up.
All signs of the castle my family and I had been visiting were gone. It was like I was in another world.
