It Is Said (Mathias Bootmaker and the Keepers of the Sandbox) (15 page)

Ulysses looked up to the castle. Mathias could see all of the history of the story that he was just told written all over the man’s face. Ulysses closed his eyes and lowered his head.

“I was once a brave man, until I learned to fear a child,” he said through a dozing haze. “When you stand before him, look into his eyes, if you see the child, save him.”

Mathias had to lean in closer to hear the rest.

“If you see nothing, destroy him.”

With that Ulysses, the innkeeper, groundskeeper, inventor’s assistant, thinker’s friend, loving husband, and perhaps the last brave man in the Village Darke, fell asleep sitting up on the black sand beach of his world. He had spoken in truths of the place he called home, truths that had not been spoken of in a very long time, and now he was done.

11
.

Oracle Darke

No room is empty if your mind is full. One learns that, as a prisoner of the Academy Darke. That’s all Mouse could think of as he sat in this very particular empty room.

 
A roaring fire in the fireplace kept it lit, and uncomfortably warm. Mouse sat in a wooden chair that sat opposite a long, splendidly carved table. On that table was a large hour glass. The sand was sitting quite still in the upper chamber. It was waiting. Just like Mouse. It just sat there waiting. Just like Mouse sat.

This round room was well known. It was the public office of a very private man. It was situated at the base of the castle’s tallest tower and in the place that many people believed was the soul of the structure.

This is where he met with the People, his officials, and dignitaries. It was below the family quarters where they lived their lives. Somewhere above was the playroom where the family was murdered. Somewhere above that was the secret laboratory of the man that brought illumination to his people.

The entrance to that secret place had been a matter of great debate amongst the people of the village. Since the visionary’s passing, it had been searched for, but never found.

Then a new plan was formed.

Men scaled the tower from the outside. They intended to enter the tower through the crystal flame. The new glass panels, put in place after the great explosion, would not yield to torch, hammer, or pick. A second attempt was planned.

Oracle Darke put a stop to that.

This room was known as the Dragon Mural Room and Mouse could see why. The entire space was wrapped in a mural that told the story of the Dragon Spark. The painting was covered with dust and soot, but the vivid colors were pushing through the layers of grunge and time.
 

The mural began at the beginning of the story. The rock tower was there and at its base the People were depicted in the early times. Mouse remembered his mother and father telling him of the early times, before the dragon gave them the first spark.

The early people lived with the void all around them. There was no light of any kind. It was a terrible time. They lived in the forest. They lived in caves and mud huts. The early people were violent. They existed in small bands of tribes and hunting groups. They fought each other for what little they could get their hands on. They lived with a constant fear of attack.

When things were at their worst and the early people were close to extinction, a dragon came to them and brought them fire.

He was there in the mural, atop the rock tower. His enormous wings were fully open. In his talons he held a ball of fire. He held it above a pile of wood that had been gathered at the request of the beautiful beast. His name was Bookmarque.

He was given that name by his brothers and sisters because he was destined to hold a very special place in the story of the People.

Mouse remembered his parents telling him that many people didn’t believe in the Dragon Spark story anymore. They believed that the People discovered fire on their own. They believed that the People brought themselves out of the void. Mouse liked the story. He wasn’t sure if it was true or not. He believed that the truth was somewhere in the middle of both tellings.

Next to the tower and progressing around the room were images of the rebirth of the People. The spark was more than just the fire. Before the dragon came, the People did not speak. They made sounds. They sang. He taught them to draw those sounds. Bookmarque brought the People knowledge and imagination. He gave them the gifts of language and writing and mathematics.

The dragon taught these lessons atop the rock tower. When he finished providing his offerings he vanished. Never to be seen again. The People then learned to use their gifts in his absence.

They learned to hunt and harvest and store. They began to reason. They grew out of their separations and became one people. They began to create and design. Music and art flourished. Then they began to build. They built homes and gathering places. They didn’t stop until the village was formed.

It took several generations, and the People still lived with the void all around them, but they overcame it and launched themselves into the next phase of their evolution.

 
The depictions of the growth of the People ended at the base of another rock tower that was opposite the first. On it was the castle with its beacon ablaze. At its entrance stood Elias Darke. He was shown in his favorite attire, an all white suit of clothes with a thin black tie. A ball of light was floating between his outstretched hands.

 
Wrapping around the rest of the room and between the two towers was the endless black of the void. When Elias Darke sat at his table, he had the history of the People behind him, the two towers at each side and the intrigue of the void facing him.

A person sitting in this chair would see a man and his people. Elias would see endless possibilities.

This was an ingeniously designed round room.

Other than the mural, the table, the hourglass, the chair and Mouse, this room was vacant of any other sign of life. Except for the Fetcher, whose presence could be felt even though he couldn’t be seen.

Whether the Fetcher is alive or not has been a matter of great debate for quite some time in the Darke. That’s what the rather unique students of this very particular institution called it. The Darke.

The Fetcher, if he could be categorized, would be the Dean of Student Discipline here in the Darke. In truth, he was many things and in many places all at once.

The alumni of this place feared him at first, and then learned to live in terror at the mere mention of his name. His arrival meant you thought of something, had an idea, or worse, you thought of someone you love and miss. A sentimental memory could make you a prisoner of one very quickly.

The still enrolled student body in the Darke feared him at first, and then learned to outsmart him. It wasn’t easy. It took a great deal of control and concentration. It cost them their freedom.

One of the Fetcher’s favorite punishments was to take an offending child and make them kneel in the corner of a pure dark room. Left alone in a room with no light, a person’s imagination begins to wander. The student would be given a sense of freedom. Then, the Fetcher would fetch you back.

The freedom was snatched away and replaced with an empty feeling in the pit of your stomach.

It wasn’t the time in the corner that was hard, it was the time after. One would be sullen. One would cry. One would face it and walk away stronger. The student body in the Darke called this chastisement, Fears Corner.

Mouse had been waiting forever staring at that desk and chair. He was practicing his control and concentration while he sat. He was waiting for the founder and head monster of this very particular institution. The creepy little man child that was born here. The twisted little mind that imagined a place with no imagination.

Mouse could now hear something ticking, but there was nothing else in the room. He turned and looked. The Fetcher was standing behind him against the wall. The ticking stopped. Mouse looked away from him. The ticking started again. Mouse smirked. It’s always a game with the Fetcher.

The smirk fell away from his face as he remembered, it was always a game with the Fetcher, but it was always a game with a purpose. He listened carefully to the ticking. It was fading. In its place Mouse could hear footsteps. Little footsteps from behind the wall next to where the Fetcher was standing.

A door opened in the mural wall. There was no one behind it. There was just the sound of footsteps, the tap of a cane and a cough. There was a pause, then a groan and a cough. The footsteps and the tapping began again and a shadow appeared on the wall of the doorway. The footsteps grew louder and the shadow grew larger.

But just for a moment.

The shadow began to shrink as Oracle Darke turned the corner. The footsteps stopped as he stood in the open doorway and glared at Mouse.

Mouse quickly turned away and faced forward. No student in the Darke had ever laid eyes on him. No student had ever spoken to him. No student except for his best friend, Connie.

In all the time they had been together in the Darke, she only spoke of her talks with Oracle Darke once. She asked Mouse never to ask her about it again. He never did. As the head monster’s footsteps started again, Mouse started wishing he had asked her what she had learned about him from those private lectures.

Oracle Darke walked past Mouse to the table.

He had very long, very straight, very white hair. It was taut to his scalp and tied tightly, just above his collar, with a black ribbon. The rest was allowed to hang straight down to his waist. With his back to Mouse he laid his cane down on its surface and slowly turned to face his errant student.

The scary little man child was no more than four feet tall. For someone who lived in a castle full of dust and madness, he was crisply dressed.

He wore the trappings of the Academy Darke like skin.

The traditional black coat, tight at the waist and flared to the knees, was perfectly fit. The arms of the jacket came to an end just above his wrist in order to expose a hint of the very clean white cuff of his shirt.

His black vest with cloth black buttons was just snug enough to hold the school tie in place against his chest. The black trousers had sharp pressed pleats and seams. The hems hung down at just the right spot on the shoes, where the laces first meet the leather.

Those shoes were so well polished that the reflection of the fire on the mirror finish made him look like he was standing on the very flames themselves.

The first thing Mouse learned about Oracle Darke was that he didn’t like anything upsetting the order of his world, and his world was exacting a vicious toll on him.

Oracle was an angry little boy who never grew up, but he still suffered the ravages of guilt and sorrow and time. Here at the Academy Darke, time is a relative thing. Mouse didn’t know how long he had been there. For all he knew it could already be one or more lifetimes. And every single one of them was right there on the head monster’s face.

There was still the face of a child present, but it was cold and hard.

“Are you exceptional?” Oracle asked.

With his first utterance the sand in the hourglass began to flow down into its lower chamber.

“Are you a bright child?” he asked sharply. “Did someone once tell you that there was a spark inside you? Did someone once tell you that you were special?”

It was getting hotter in the room. Mouse could feel a drop of sweat rolling down his right temple. Mouse wanted out of this particular room and away from this peculiar person.

“Nothing to say?” he pressed in his man child voice. “It seems that everyone is innocent in the Darke.”

Oracle’s body began to fall forward. Mouse quickly stood up expecting to have to catch the child. Oracle tucked and rolled onto the floor and landed in front of Mouse in a sitting position. The shock on his face must have been very visible.