“I know what yer father says, but ye need to decide for yerself. Now, you go to the scrolls, ye hear? The key is there. The Door Within is closer than you think.”
“But—”
“Son, you best git! It’s time for my nap!”
Aidan had never seen Grampin so stirred up before. He certainly didn’t look ready for a nap. Aidan half expected the old guy to get up out of his wheelchair and boot him a good one in the rear if he didn’t get moving. So Aidan flew up the stairs, threw the covers off the bed, and scooped up the scrolls.
A key?
Aidan thought as he spread the first scroll.
I don’t see a key in here.
In turn, he examined every page of the scrolls, shook them, even waved them around like magic wands, but nothing fell out.
Outside Aidan’s window, a catbird chirped angrily. The pines in the front yard were a playground for many wild creatures, but the birds took over around ten every morning. Squawking, twirping, and peeping, dozens of them hopped from branch to branch among the evergreens. Aidan liked to watch them at times, but today, he had other concerns.
The key. Grampin had said The Door Within was close, but how was he supposed to unlock it without a key? He was about to call down the stairs to ask when his eyes locked onto the poem.
There are passages and doors
And realms that lie unseen.
There are roads both wide and narrow
And no avenue between.
Doors remain closed for those
Who in sad vanity yet hide.
Yet when Belief is chosen,
The key appears inside.
What is lived now will soon pass,
And what is not will come to be.
The Door Within must open,
For one to truly see.
Do you see?
Believe and enter.
Like a connect-the-dots picture with a handful of lines drawn in, the meaning of the poem was slowly taking shape. It all seemed to hinge on believing, but believing what?
The Story?
Just believe it’s true? Aidan needed more dots connected.
Maybe it’s like making a wish,
Aidan thought. Perhaps he could just hope really hard, and a key would come forth from the scrolls. Aidan reasoned that if three clay pots could appear out of thin air, certainly a key could. Aidan put down the scroll. He was ready to believe.
A
idan sat on the edge of his bed. His knees were together and his back was as straight and stiff as a post. He squinted his eyes shut, as if letting in a crack of light might somehow spoil the moment. Then thinking
I believe, I believe, I believe,
over and over again, Aidan started to hold out his hands. Then he opened his eyes.
What sort of key will I get? Should I cup my hands one under the other for a tiny key? Or hold out both hands shoulder’s width apart for a large key?
Aidan wasn’t sure. Then he had a disturbing thought.
What if the key is the size of a telephone pole?
He risked it, cupped his hands, extended his arms, and again closed his eyes. “I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe,” he chanted, rocking slowly and trying to will a key to appear. At last, he opened his eyes again. There in his hands . . . was nothing.
Aidan glanced sideways at the scrolls on his bed and then trudged downstairs to the living room. Grampin seemed to be asleep, but he opened one eye as Aidan approached.
“Grampin,” Aidan said meekly, “how do I believe?”
Grampin snickered. “Do you believe the sky is blue?”
“Yeah,” said Aidan.
“Okay, do you believe birds fly?”
“Of course!” Feeling foolish now.
“Well, son, it’s kinda like that!”
“Okay, I believe like that, but . . . I didn’t get a key or find a door.”
“There’s more to it, Aidan. It starts in your head, but it’s got to go beyond. Try this. Picture yerself standing on the edge of a cliff. It’s a chasm, really, and there’s an old narrow bridge you could cross to get to the other side. Now, you can look at the bridge and agree, it’s fine—that it’ll hold you—but believin’ it’s safe won’t get you to the other side, now will it? You got to step out, walk right on out there.”
Aidan swallowed and nodded. Grampin’s fierce blue eyes held him there for a moment more.
“Now, Aidan,” Grampin said. He coughed and cleared his throat. “It’s up to you.”
Aidan gritted his teeth and turned. He began to climb the stairs to his room, but glanced one last time at his grandfather. He was slouched again, spent from their conversation. Aidan noticed too that Grampin’s right hand was lightly pressing into his chest as if he were kneading dough. Aidan took a tentative step back, but Grampin looked up and smiled. “Go on,” he whispered.
Aidan grinned back and flung himself up the stairs.
The scroll with the poem was waiting on his bed. Aidan sat down and brushed his fingers across the script. They felt vibrant, textured with electricity. Aidan closed his eyes. No more chanting. No more wishing.
He cleared his mind. Then, rapidly, an image began to develop. There before Aidan was the cliff. And secured to the edge of it, just a few feet away, was the narrow bridge. It spanned a great gap, but Aidan could not see the other side, for it was whited out by distance and haze.
In his mind, Aidan stepped closer and peered over the edge. The depth of the ravine could not be guessed, but it had a peculiar, powerful gravity that entranced and pulled. Aidan shrank back. Were he to fall, he might never stop falling.
He heard the birds chirping, and he almost opened his eyes for the safety of his bedroom. But that would be giving up, surrendering. No, he could not surrender this time. And Robby wasn’t there to bail him out. Aidan himself had to go forward.
First, however, he decided to inspect the bridge.
It was made of ropes and wooden planks. The ropes seemed tightly wound and knotted and were not frayed. The planks were cut from solid wood and were not cracked or rotted. The bridge looked sturdy. The bridge looked strong.
I can do this.
Aidan took a step toward the bridge, but at that moment a stiff wind came forth and caused the bridge to sway. The terror of death awoke and whispered icy thoughts into Aidan’s mind. The bridge seemed at the mercy of the wind. Aidan began to shake. It was one thing to venture out upon such a bridge when it was still. That was enough. But to risk his life on rope and wood in motion?
The rope might not hold. A board could crack. I could slip.
Fear groped about for Aidan’s throat, and again Aidan was tempted to open his eyes. But then words from the poem sprang into his mind:
Yet when Belief is chosen,
The key appears inside.
In that moment, he had it—the key to the riddle: Belief must be chosen.
Aidan looked out at the swaying bridge and made his decision. Without looking back, he stepped forward onto the bridge and kept walking. He held on to the rope railings and watched to make sure each foot landed squarely on a plank. Aidan felt a gooseflesh chain reaction up his spine as he walked. They were not the bumps of creeping cold or of tingling fear—they were of pure joy and exhilaration.
Each step brought increased confidence. And though the wind picked up again, Aidan pushed forward. He swayed as the bridge swayed, and for once in his life he was not afraid.
He still could not see the other side, but he had come to the end of the bridge’s down slope and began the slight incline that told him he was halfway.
Aidan was too intent on getting to the other side of the bridge to notice, but the cries and chirps of the birds in the pines outside grew faint as he walked. He pressed on, pulling himself by the rope railings and quickening his pace. At last, there was something visible.
It’s only a darker patch of mist in a sea of clouds,
he told himself. But as Aidan moved forward, it took shape. It was a door.
Aidan reached the end of the bridge and stood before the door. It was as tall as a door from any home, but that is where the similarity ended. This door was gray stone. Designs were carved meticulously into its surface. And many were inlaid with silver. Knights on horseback carried shields and banners and followed a winding trail to two mountains. A sun rose between the mountains and seemed to light the way for the travelers on the road. And about halfway up from the bottom of the door, just waiting to be pulled, was a large, thick silver ring.
Aidan was certain that before him stood The Door Within, and it was time to open it. Hands slightly trembling, he grasped the silver ring and tugged it to open the door. It was difficult to budge, at first. But Aidan looked up at the graven image of the sun rising between the twin mountains. The image seemed to inject hope into Aidan heart.
It’s all true!
he thought. And in that moment, the door came free and began to swing open. Brilliant golden light streamed out as if millions of stars were hiding behind it. Aidan released the ring, and the door opened the rest of the way on its own.
Aidan shielded his eyes with both arms from the fierce, pure light.
He had a strange feeling that Grampin was watching him. Aidan smiled as he walked through The Door Within.
PASSAGE
The light faded and flew away to a pinpoint miles in the distance. Aidan slowly became aware of his surroundings. The first images he saw were blurred and quivered as if viewed through water. He walked on a very narrow stone path. Darkness pressed in from both sides.
Suddenly, Aidan heard thousands of voices—all speaking at once. Yet, as Aidan listened, one voice stood out and the others diminished. It was a dreamy, peaceful voice, speaking in a language Aidan did not know but somehow understood. It called Aidan and guided him straight ahead.
This voice was ever before Aidan and drew him along the narrow path. He did not stumble and he was not afraid, at first, for the voice was comforting and strong like a father encouraging a young child. But as the journey continued, Aidan became aware of another voice.
It too spoke in a strange language, but it was not comforting. It made Aidan wonder,
Should I really be on this path? It seems so long.
Aidan looked to his left and to his right, and the darkness looked less frightening and more like an enormous dark blanket in which to hide.
Aidan shook his head and continued forward, but as he did the darkness flickered, and unusual visions rose up all around him. There was a beautiful snow-covered countryside, but the snow faded into the pale face of a being whose eyes changed from brilliant blue to blood red. The face dissolved into swirling shadows that were soon pierced by a single flaming arrow.
Blazing across the sea of darkness, the arrow shed a weak flickering light on a cold stone maze. Vision followed vision until Aidan could not follow them any longer. He was somehow becoming aware of things— things, people, and places.
He felt overwhelmed, as if he had left an empty hallway and entered a stadium filled with eighty thousand people. And the second voice kept telling him, “Get off the path! Come to the darkness, and I will keep you safe. Get off the path, now!”
Terrified, Aidan ran off the edge of the path!
Like a stone Aidan fell shrieking and clawing at darkness, for it was a blanket—not for hiding but for smothering.
He fell, unable to see where he might land. Then there was an image beneath him. It was just a gray outline at first. But it grew and took the shape of a pale, almost ghostly form. It was a person! And as Aidan was falling, this being was rising to meet him. Aidan stared down at the being. The being stared up at Aidan. They were rushing toward a collision. And in the last moment before impact, before losing consciousness, Aidan recognized the being. It was a reflection of himself.
S
omething tickled Aidan’s nose.
He omething He opened his eyes just a crack, blinked a few times to adjust to the sunlight, and saw a large scarlet-colored butterfly walking and flittering about, apparently in search of nectar.
Aidan thought,
Trust me, bug, there’s nothing in my nose for you!
As he swatted gently at the beautiful insect, his arm erupted in a chain reaction of tingles and pinpricks. It was a familiar feeling. It meant he had fallen asleep on his arm.
He sat up, rubbing the last of the pinpricks out of his arm, and watched the butterfly take to the air in front of him. A bit woozy, Aidan stood and watched the butterfly sail on the breeze up over some stony foothills and into a dense forest. Beyond the foothills and forest, a dark mountain range emerged, piercing all that was green. The mountains sprawled left and right. But in the center of the range were two jagged peaks that stabbed up from the cloud tops like black fangs.
Aidan turned in circles and searched for something, anything familiar. “Where am I?”
He was in a clearing surrounded by a variety of unusual trees. Some were short, no more than six feet in height, with dark, flaky bark. Their trunks were narrow, gnarled, and twisted. And their branches were bare except for massive paws of leaves at the ends. These strange twisty trees all leaned away from the dark mountains.
There were also huge, cone-shaped evergreens. But to call these
evergreen
wouldn’t be quite right. They did have needles like the pines in his front yard, but they most certainly were not green. These maintained a dark purple and here and there a hint of navy blue.
But the most striking trees were the tall ones. Aidan didn’t know what to call them. The trees’ bark—if it could be called bark—was absolutely black. It looked smooth and polished, almost reflective, like an eightball. Their trunks rose in columns and were crowned by thickets of broad red leaves. The roots of these black trees rose out of the ground and spread in dozens of directions. Hundreds, maybe thousands of scarlet butterflies danced around the tree trunks, occasionally dropping to light on the tiny multicolored flowers that grew from the trees’ roots.
Aidan shivered, taking in the scene.
It wasn’t scary, really . . . just so different!
Am I in Alleble?
Aidan wondered.
Am I?
Aidan turned again in a circle. There were no castles, no signs of civilization—nothing but nature. He was wondering what he should do next, when he noticed that he hadn’t come into the world alone. By his feet on a patch of deep green moss was a scroll. Aidan smiled, picking up the bundle like a long-lost pet.