Beyond -- Chapter 3 - 4

CHAPTER THREE

Ayden’s hair was dripping wet as he unlocked the front door. The apartment was pitch-dark.

“Mom?”

His call was met with silence.

He checked his watch. It was already seven PM. Her flight was at seven-thirty. She and Anne are probably at the airport already.

He dropped his heavy backpack and felt something brush along his leg. A soft purr emitted from the dim hallway. Ayden reached down and stroked his fur.

“Yeah, I miss them too, pal.”

Taking off his shoes, he reached for the hallway light—the apartment remained dark.

Have to remember to change that light bulb, he muttered. Another purr from the darkness was all he needed for an agreement.

In a snail’s pace, he felt his way along the wall. Halfway to the kitchen, his foot smacked into something hard. Pain shot through his little toe. Ayden cursed under his breath. Hopping on one foot, he fumbled for the kitchen lights.

A carton box, still attached with stickers for fragile goods, mocked him from the hallway. In the back of his mind, he could just hear his mother’s I told you so.

The kitchen was large but sparse. Another pile of unpacked carton boxes nested in one corner, topped with a can of olive green paint and a dust coated paint brush. The only furniture was a round table with three lawn chairs. A few pots and pans decorated the countertop. Aside the green paint, two neatly wrapped presents—one in red, the other in blue—were the only source of color in the barren room.

From the doorway, a black kitten watched him while licking his paws.

“You know Whiskers, with your eyes, you could’ve given me a heads up.”

The black feline tilted his head with an air of innocence as if trying to decipher his message.

Making another mental note to finally paint the kitchen, Ayden sidestepped a suspicious orange spot, where his sister had probably spilled orange juice, and opened the fridge.

The inside looked like he had been robbed.

Apart from a jar of mayonnaise, and a half-eaten tomato covered in shrink wrap, was the most eerie version of Spaghetti Bolognese he ever set his eyes on. He cringed his nose and stared at the unidentifiable bits of greens and reds among the clumped mass of noodles.

Yummy.

Lifting the plate, he pulled out a handwritten note.

I’m only as good a chef as the ingredients I get to work with. Buy some real groceries. Hope it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks.

Love, Mom

The word real was underlined three times.

He chuckled at his mother’s message. With a growling stomach, he grabbed a fork from the countertop and took a leap of faith.

It didn’t taste as bad as it looked…

It tasted worse.

Sparing his future self another humiliating attempt, he discarded the rest of his mother’s most recent masterpiece into the trash.

Whiskers peered at him from on top of the table and stuck out his tongue as though doing his best impression of him.

“I’m glad that someone’s amused.”

After giving Whiskers another scratch behind the ears, he retrieved a step ladder from the storage closet, set it up in the hallway and strode into the adjacent living room.

The drapes were drawn down three-quarters. In the center of the room was a wine-red couch which his mother had helped him pick out during her last visit.

Grabbing the remote control from an IKEA coffee table, he turned on the forty inch flat screen TV. The TV blared to life with sounds of a German Spongebob Squarepants.

In a cabinet, he rummaged through an array of misplaced items before he found the box of light bulbs. Beneath a pile of worn take-out menus, something caught his eye. It was a wooden frame with a chipped upper left corner. Layers of dust made the photograph murky. He wiped off the grime, feeling the deep cracks that propagated into the glass.

The image in the frame felt like it was taken from another life time. It showed two proud parents with their two kids—a boy and a girl—at Disneyland. Both gave their biggest smiles for the camera.

The woman’s blond hair was lush without a single trace of grey. The father’s arms were around the boy and his mother, while the young girl nudged between her mother and big brother.

Ayden ran his hands over the splintered glass, momentarily lost in the distant memory.

Meow.

Whiskers stood on its two hind legs from the doorway. His paws were folded together in front of him.

“Right, almost forgot about you.”

Ayden set down the frame and strode back to the kitchen with Whiskers in hot pursuit. He opened a drawer and took out the last can of tuna veggie infusion.

“Looks like the cat gods have mercy on you, little Padawan.”

He emptied the contents of the aluminum can into a bowl and set it down on the floor.

The cat went to work at once.

“That looks a lot better than mom’s, care to share?”

This time, the cat gave no response.

“I guess that’s where our friendship ends then.”

While the cat chowed down on chunks of tuna, and bits of carrots and peas, Ayden unwrapped the larger box with the blue gift wrap. The underlying packet was the size of two shoe boxes. An envelope was taped to the front.

Dear Ayden, the note read, it’s been four months since you moved to Germany, and though I wasn’t particularly fond of your decision at first, I couldn’t be prouder of my little rascal. Even though the storks got my baby mixed up, I’m not really upset about it.

I’m sorry that we couldn’t stay longer, but you know how it is. FYI, here is parental advice #157: Don’t become a surgeon! Visit us soon, San Francisco just isn’t the same without you kiddo.

Here is a little something to add to your wardrobe.

Alles Liebe,

Mama

Ayden read the note a second time before he opened the box. A pair of brown dress shoes, a white dress shirt, cologne and deodorant, all by Calvin Klein, were artistically arranged inside.

Anne’s box was smaller but surprisingly heavy. Her note was short and to the point.

Some knowledge for your ailing brain, old man.

You can thank me later.

Signed,

The best sister in the world.

The box was a collection of six books. Ayden quickly scanned the summary. They were about a world of wizard and witches—hidden from ordinary folks—and something about an evil lord returning. With the help of his two best friends, a prophesized boy named—

The phone rang in the living room. It was Mr. Peterson, the manager from the movie theatre, letting him know that he has to come an hour early since Stephen was sick… again.

Sighing, Ayden quickly installed the lights in the hallway and turned it on once to make sure it worked. Luckily, it did. Grabbing his coat and umbrella, he headed for the door.

Whiskers meowed in protest.

“Sorry pal, I’ll make it up to you another time.”

He went down the stairs and walked outside.

What began as a sprinkle half an hour ago had now turned into something from War of the Worlds.

CHAPTER FOUR

Just a few miles from the coastal village, Naga hid in the shadow of the storm. She shivered, though it was a good sign—it meant her body was alert, primed for the task expected of her tonight. Four years ago, she would have never thought she would stand before the gates of her enemy. But now, their aim—once deemed impossible—was close within their grasp.

Raising her head to the dimness of night, she surveyed the artistic details of the emblem above the massive iron gates. Five swirls of air gleamed arrogantly in the pale moonlight.

In her mind, her mentor’s words echoed anew.

Gareth is weak. This is the time for us to strike.

A gust of mountain air whipped at her dark cape, which concealed not only her petit physique and ghostly white skin, but also the evidence from the years of strict training she endured. Tonight, every skill in her repertoire will be tested.

She took a long sweep of the temple’s eastern walls with her keen red eyes. Apart from the group of guards that returned every half hour for a careless sweep, the outer walls were deserted. Past the fifty feet high barricade, outlines of towers and spiral rooftops flaunted in the evening dusk.

She clenched her fists, the redness in her knuckles turning white as she sought for the familiar energy that inhabited her body. It was a practiced habit—one that gave her the confidence that she could change her destiny at the turn of her hand. Instead, uneasiness evoked in its absence. She was prepared this would happen. The maharishi had told her so… but also that her powers would return. And she would know when the time was right.

She couldn’t grasp how her mentor acquired such information about their enemy. Despite the dangers, she trusted her mentor’s judgment—even if it meant risking her life.

Our roots have penetrated the soils of our enemies. He is a weak, but we must act quickly.

Having never set foot in the Grand Temple, she had memorized its layout entirely. Images of the iron gates flashed in her mind. Behind these, a blooming garden awaited that welcomed hundreds of daily tourists. Sculptures and artworks dedicated to the history of the temple decorated the courtyard. Past the garden, a small, ordinary pavilion was hidden in plain sight in the masses of stunning structures. Underneath, a labyrinth of corridors and walkways followed, leading to an ascending bridge which preceded her final destination—the private courtyard of the Grandmaster.

Even in Gareth’s ailing state, she knew she was no match for him in a confronted battle. Yet from all other disciples, her mentor had set the faith of their people in her—that she would carry the flames of their retribution.

Out of their ashes, we will instigate our rightful place in this world.

Her hatred for the people behind these walls rooted like poison in her veins. It was for them that her ancestors sacrificed themselves, only to be rewarded with centuries of enslavement.

Once there was thousands of her kind. Now, having being cast as inferiors—forced to dance at their command, to kill at their amusement—she wondered if there were still a hundred of them. And those deemed as valuable were granted righteous positions in their regime—imprisoned and exploited, and passed around like some prized possession.

As she fell in utter hopelessness, a faceless stranger emerged to unite her with likeminded. With others, who saw past the façade of unity and peace.

Naga watched the moon peak from underneath a sheath of clouds. Her blood boiled as she thought of the wasted years she had served under false idols. But this wasn’t the time to be impulsive. Patience, she had learned, was always the key.

It’s the silent knife that cuts the deepest.

She listened to the rhythm of rain around her, pinpointing the individual drops as they hit the ground.

As the cold air leeched all warmth from her veins, tiny icicles crystalized around her, sparkling like glitter in silver moonlight. Even the nearby nightingales stopped mid-song, growing quiet from the surrounding cold.

She closed her eyes and ran through the precise orders one last time. Every detail had been worked and reworked until the script of movement was imprinted in her mind.

There was once a time when she would have never used her gifts to harm… But that was in another life time.

Motionlessly, she waited in the darkness, eager to initiate the destruction of the aeromancers.