Keith G. Alderman

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Dinner with a Devil

Chapter 4

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The next morning, Marian, Esther, and Herbert slurped down their eggs, bacon, and strawberries in the kitchen. Being a teacher-work day, they didn’t have to face Aaron or any of the other awkward confrontations again for three days. Opposite the dining-room, Mrs. Dolor rested her feet on the coffee table and watched the News, sipping coffee and nibbling on a biscuit. Mr. Dolor had left earlier for work.

“Do you think the ghost will come back if we go up to the gate again?” Esther asked.

“Do you think it’s still open?” Herbert asked. 

Marian ignored them; in her heart, she had hoped that it were all a dream, but her brother and sister’s comment drew a slow, despondent feeling from her heart—a feeling that quietly aches when we realize our dreams are not real, or our nightmares are; she had planned to finish writing her play today and hadn’t any desire to enter the forest, especially under the guise of seeing the gate, open or closed. Now she wrestled with the notion of whether she should even speak to her siblings about it. Perhaps not looking at it would make the gate close on its own, or some neighbor or forest ranger would find it and she could act ignorant of all that came of it. From the living-room, she heard the loud and awful speech of a very flamboyant anchor dashing all hope of her problems resolving on their own.

“It’s Halloween in April!” A woman with blonde curly hair, wearing a red blouse, reported from an obscure pasture on the southeast side of Maryville. The wind was blowing through the stringent grass, and a loud red and blue semi roared by on the far side of the forty-acre pasture. “…Reports of Tsul ’Kalu, also known as the Cherokee Devil have begun popping up in the Blount Country area over the last twenty-four hours. Those unfamiliar with the legend will know the monster as something akin to the Smoky Mountains’ Bigfoot.”

The Dolor children looked at one another and sprung from their chairs, hurrying to the living-room to hear more; they crouched behind the couch and watched anxiously. The video cut away from the Blonde Reporter and showed images around Maryville, Montvale, Chilhowee, and Happy Valley; street signs and four-way stops, local Mom and Pop shops and rough bars, schools and homesteads. Her voice continued, “Reports seem to be sporadic and random in location and persons…”

The video cut to a clip of a skinny man, with no shirt and a Tennessee Volunteers hat, standing in a field along Six Mile Road. His lips were moving, but the audio wasn’t up on his clip. 

“…Local reports,” the Blonde Reporter’s voice continued over the clip of the mjuted Skinny Man. “…came during the midnight hour of Thursday night—”

The man’s volume rose. “That’s what I seen, yeah,” he said confidently. “It looked like a big hairy man—but he was humongous—standing right there, right over there, on toppa Jeff’s house…”

A second clip appeared. This one of an obese elderly woman in what appeared to be a nightgown with pink and purple flowers, holding a chihuahua. “Oh, I’ seentit many timesin ma life.” The woman closed her eyes like she was remembering. “…eight, ten-fee’-tall, easily. ’t can jump ’s high as a five ‘tory building. And ‘tit’s mean a ‘sa far’cracker. I ‘ouldn’t be surprised if ‘tit’s mad a t’all ‘em loggers and killin’ all t’e elk.”

The video cut to historical looking images of drawings and stock-footage of Cherokee people, both from the West and East Nations; the drawings showed what was imagined to be the Cherokee Devil;it looked like a snowy-white Bigfoot with bright white eyes and massive shoulders. The children thought Tsul ’Kalu’s eyes looked strange because every drawing showed them slanted; but they remembered seeing him with normal rounded eyes, yet slanted pupils inside.

The Blonde Reporter’s Voiceover sounded much clearer as if recorded in a studio somewhere: “The Cherokee Devil, or Tsul ’Kalu, is the ancient Cherokee myth of a creature that stands several feet higher than a man, is covered in hair like an ape, and has slanted eyes that, quote, ‘shine like the sun’. Tsul ’Kalu which means, ‘he that has them slanting’, is the ‘lord of the game’ and considered the greatest hunter of the Cherokee Nation.” 

The images showed Tsul ’Kalu bringing dead deer to an old woman and her daughter at night; and another of him walking away into the forest with the young woman. “Said to once deceive and marry a Cherokee girl; later, he attacked the girl’s grandmother and took the girl off to his home in the mountains.”

The stock footage disappeared and the Blonde Woman was back on the screen, holding her mic and smiling pleasantly. “Blount county officials are asking that any sighting of what may be the Cherokee Devil be reported immediately and that citizens try not to engage. Sheriff Kirk refuses to comment on his personal beliefs, but does, however recognize the strong possibility that this animal should be considered dangerous.”

The video cut to a man in uniform with a crewcut standing in front of a gas station and Gondolier Italian Restaurant. “Look, I’m not saying this is or is not real. Obviously we have received a lot of phone calls last night and this morning…” The footage quick-faded to another clip of the Sheriff. “—Very real possibility it is a large predator, maybe a black bear, and has lost its fear of man…” Quick-fade. “—Also strong possibility this is a person dressing up, whether for a prank or even mental issues…” Quick-fade. “—Call your local law enforcement, keep a distance and don’t try to get a great story for your friends.”

The ended clip cut back to the Blonde Reporter, smiling. “Tsul ’Kalu’s legend is famous all over the Smoky Mountain region,” she said. “And though sightings have been reported in the last decade, nothing has come close to the proportion and volume of sightings occurred in Blount County last night, with over sixty-three calls made to local law enforcement officials, so much so that they have this reporter wondering if this is, in fact, not a hoax. Only time will tell if Tennessee’s new mystery resident is one of fact…or myth. I’m Wendy Lawrence, reporting live from Maryville, Tennessee.”

The shot cut away to the studio. A man in a suit with black hair was smiling. “Wow, that’s incredible stuff, Wendy,” the man said, patting a stack of papers in line with each other and placing them on the table in front of him. “In other news—the weird just keeps getting…well, weirder. Reports from members of the Chilhowee Equestrian Center for Beginners and Youngsters say they witnessed a unicorn riding alongside various ponies and stallions this morning. Yes, that’s right, the famous mythical beast that is every young girl’s favorite fantasy-animal is said to have been spotted running alongside other stallions and mares. While no official photographs were taken, this eyewitness drawing from 7-year-old Olivia Barnhardt gives us an idea of what it may have looked like.” A shot of a little girl holding a crayon drawing came onto the television. Her voice was muted, but she pointed to her drawing of a black horse with a white mane and long silver horn on its head. 

Click! The television turned off.

“Well, that’s a bunch of nonsense.” Mrs. Dolor took a sip of coffee and stood from the couch. Turning around, she was amazed to discover all six of her children’s eyes glued to the blank television. “You alright?” She asked.

“Uh, yes!” Marian replied. 

Mrs. Dolor laughed. “Hey, I’m sick of unpacking boxes,” she said. “Let’s do something fun! How about we go for a drive through the mountains?”

The mountain peaks rolled over the horizon like blue and green waves; slate and sandstone faces jutted out in wild shapes of brash strength and angry fortitude; a bald eagle hovered on the wind like a frozen monument of glory. Down the road and through the valley, the Dolor children traveled with their mother, up high hills and creeping down steep faces; a flurry of green, brown, and gray were the trees and rocks that passed by. The children laughed and stared in wonder at the Smoky’s majesty. The car sped through a tunnel and the world became dark and mysterious; the children cheered. An hour later, the children had forgotten every ounce of their worries and fear. And the ice-cream cones Mrs. Dolor bought them were icing on the cake. 

But all pleasant moments eventually fade and behind them can come ominous ones. In this case, it was a terrible evening that lie ahead, which started as soon as they pulled up to the house and saw two vehicles waiting, that had, apparently, just arrived ahead of them. Mr. Dolor stepped out of his Ranger and a stranger got out of the other sedan. 

“There’s my family!” Mr. Dolor cheered, and reached out his arms wide, as Mrs. Dolor turned the Explorer into the yard under the poplar. The family exited the SUV, and the children ran to hug their father; they noticed the strange man standing behind him and felt uneasy at his presence. The man wore a tight black blazer, black slacks, and a black long-sleeved shirt tucked into them; there was so much dark clothing that he looked like he must have come from a funeral home. His dark hair was slicked straight back and shimmering in the sunlight. When he smiled and greeted the family, two long sharp cuspids shown through on the corners of his mouth like a Great Dane, and his voice had an East European lilt. 

“I’ve got a special guest for dinner tonight. It’s my new boss, Mister—excuse me—Professor Ludwig Wolfgang. He just started today, and we really hit it off.”

Mrs. Dolor smiled like she did when she wished Mr. Dolor asked before he made a decision. “Oh, wonderful,” said she.

While the kids cleaned themselves up, Mrs. Dolor hurriedly prepared dinner for the family and guest. Mr. Dolor and the Professor spoke in the living-room, seated on the couch and reclining chair, about business and inconsequential drivel that adults seem to always find themselves confabulating about; Government and leadership, foreign affairs, and weather, weather, weather. The living-room smelled of cigars and liquor.

At suppertime, Mr. Dolor let Ludwig sit in his chair at the head of the table, and took his seat next to him. Mrs. Dolor had prepared spaghetti and meatballs with garlic toast; the kids’ favorite. Marian loved the meatballs. Esther loved Mom’s special sauce. Herbert loved to slurp the noodles from end to end through his lips.

“Oh moy,” said Professor Ludwig Wolfgang. “I din’t know we woo’d be sareved garlic toast.”

“Is there something wrong, Professor?” Asked Mr. Dolor. Marian noticed the tinge of fear in his voice.

“I’m terribly ‘llergic to the stuff,” he replied.

“Honey, why did you make garlic toast?” Mr. Dolor asked spitefully.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I had no idea,” Mrs. Dolor replied. “Let me take that from you.” Then she turned to Mr. Dolor and glared at him. “If I had a little time to prepare, I could have cooked something a little more appropriate.” 

“Thank you, no, it is quite a’right,” replied the Professor, shaking his hands in the air. “I believe I ‘ave a bit on my sleeves, though. Where is the restroom, please?” 

“Herbert, can you show our guest the bathroom?” Mr. Dolor asked with a smile. Herbert’s eyes widened, for nothing in him wanted to be alone for a moment with the strange man; but he furrowed his brow, puffed out his lower-lip with a sigh, and put his fork down. He led Professor Wolfgang around the corner and down the hall toward the guest bath and study.

“I thought you already had a new boss,” Marian said, spinning her fork in the air and the speared meatball with it.

“Yes,” Mr. Dolor replied excitedly. “We—well, the executive team—just hired the Professor today out of Europe—Romania, if I remember correctly. He is…a very brilliant supervisor with an incredible outlook of our nation and current climate. I believe he will really take us places as an organization! I’m very excited about his vision and we plan on looking at new real estate as soon as—oh, here he comes—hush about all that.”

The Professor sat down gracefully at his seat and picked up his fork, showing disgust on his face. Herbert sat beside Marian and mouthed something to her that she could not read, but it was apparent that he had something important to tell her.

“Professor,” Mrs. Dolor said, “my husband tells me you are from Romania. That’s interesting. When did you move to East Tennessee?”

The Professor pushed his fork through his noodles and separated the meatballs. He cringed and pulled a noodle off of the meatball, before stabbing the ball abjectly and shaking the sauce from it; he smiled curtly and shoved the thing into his cheek; it squished under his powerful bite and a spurt of sauce came from his lips; he gulped a draught of wine and placed the glass down sternly. “Yes,” he finally replied. “I ‘rrived late last nigh’.”

“Really?” Mrs. Dolor replied, and Mr. Dolor’s expression showed a hint of embarrassment. “And so suddenly you are working at my husband’s factory?” 

“The work was paramount that I begin today,” said the Professor in his deep, thick accent.

“Do you not like spaghetti, Professor?” Mrs. Dolor asked, noting his bizarre method of avoiding the noodles and sauce. 

“I find it disdainful,” the Professor remarked bluntly. “I must be excused.” He stood suddenly from his seat and left the room for a second time. 

After dinner, The Professor seemed more hospitable as he entertained the Dolor parents with the piano in Mr. Dolor’s study. Meanwhile, the children huddled in the downstairs bathroom like a group of prison inmates. Not one of them felt well of Professor Ludwig Wolfgang and needed to tell the others why. 

“After dinner,” Marian began, “when he excused himself the third—or was it the fourth? No, it was the third time, because I remember Herbert had that fork balancing on his nose during the fourth time—”

“Marian!” Esther shouted retrieving her older sister’s focus. 

“Sorry,” Marian cowered into her shoulders playfully. “I saw him go round the corner toward Mom and Dad’s room. I peeked around because it felt odd. He pulled something out of his pocket and was chewing on it. I am absolutely sure of it—it was a dead rat, and he was biting right into it.”

“Ugh, that’s disgusting,” said Herbert. “And plus what I was telling you—

“Yes, what were you mouthing to me after you came back?”

Herbert shook his head and put it into the palm of his hand. “The Professor is weird. When I showed him to the bathroom the first time, he called me ‘delectable’. That what Grandma always calls her oatmeal chocolate cookies!”

Marian smirked and nodded her head at her little brother. “Yes, well, it doesn’t mean he thinks you are a cookie.” 

Esther tapped her lips and thought out loud. “Shiny long teeth,” said she. “Allergic to garlic. Thinks kids look tasty. And chewing on a rat. It’s settled, we know who—or what—the Professor is. And we need to tell Mom and Dad.”

It’s possible that the Dolor children didn’t actually believe Professor Wolfgang was a vampire. But it’s also just as plausible he were a conman and grifter, out to seduce their mother and kidnap the children. Or perhaps he were a drug-dealer that was going to the bathroom every few minutes to snort or inject his products, and hoped to hook their father on his narcotics and ruin their lives. Regardless of all of that, the children were sure that he was up to no good, and in spite of what they had seen in the prior twenty-four hours, what with manifested ghosts, galloping unicorns, giant Bigfoots, and enchanted gates that open themselves, the notion that he was a vampire seemed the most reasonable. Let loose from the enchanted forest, no doubt. 

“But I thought he said he was from—what was it—?” Herbert asked.

“Somalia,” answered Marian.

“Romania,” corrected Esther. “That’s just a cover,” Esther replied. “Of course, he’s another monster let loose when I opened that gate.” 

“Stop saying that you opened it, Ess,” replied Marian. “You don’t know that.”

“Give me another reason why it opened then? What were you and Herb doing?” 

The music had stopped. In the silence, the children felt anxious, as if some unseen force were watching them. They found their parents and the Professor in the living-room, drinking wine in front of the fireplace. As they peered round the wall next to the stairway, the Professor excused himself to the restroom. Perfect! Now the kids could talk to their parents in private.

“Mom. Dad. We have something to tell you,” Marian began with her hands clasped in front of her.

“What is it, honey?” Mrs. Dolor replied. She knew it was something serious from the formality. 

Before the question was even out of her mother’s lips, Esther burst out, “Professor Wolfgang is a vampire!”

“Yeah!” Herbert joined in. “He wants to eat me!” 

“What?” Mr. Dolor said.

“It’s true!” Marian jumped in. “Well, some of that. We think.”

“He’s got long teeth!”

“And eats dead rats!”

“And is afraid of garlic!” 

“Kids,” Mr. Dolor said, and held up his palms.

“And it’s not just that,” Marian began. “The news said it, too. A hairy Bigfoot—or Indian Devil—whatever the news said. We saw it. On top of the house last night. And a unicorn with black hair and white mane.”

“—And silver horn on its head!” Esther interrupted.

“That’s right,” continued Marian. “It’s all real.”

“What are they talking about?” Mr. Dolor looked at their mother. 

She sighed. “It was something silly on the television this morning,” she replied. 

“But it’s not silly,” pleaded Marian. “We broke open the gate outside, up the ridge to the forest.”

“Into the enchanted forest!” Herbert explained.

“And the ghost of David Crockett told us that we let loose a bunch of monsters!” 

“And we saw them run free,” Marian said. “Well, we saw the Big-foot and unicorn.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mr. Dolor tried not to shout. “That’s enough. We get it. It’s time for bed.”

“But you don’t understand!” Marian begged. “Professor Wolfgang is one of them! He’s a vampire from the enchanted forest. And you can’t trust him.”

“Enough, young lady! You three are acting like toddlers!” Mr. Dolor’s face immediately turned red realizing his guest had probably heard his outburst; he lowered his voice. “I know it isn’t easy living in a new town and going to a new school, but it will get easier—”

“That isn’t it, Dad,” Marian tried once more. “I mean, no, it isn’t fun—but—”

“I don’t want to hear anymore,” he interrupted. “Get your pajamas on and get to bed. Now.”

Marian slunk her head between her shoulders and shook it. Esther opened her mouth, about to speak, until she saw her mother’s face. Mrs. Dolor looked despondent; though in truthfully her bowed head was deep in consternation, for she had her own slight suspicions of the Professor, albeit with a different conclusion than the children’s outrageous assumption of him being a vampire. Herbert was astonished by all of it. He took the longest to accept the fact that his parents were not going to listen. He stamped his feet on the ground four times before stomping off to his bedroom. 

Marian shook her head, frustrated with herself. She had let herself get carried away with her imagination. She believed the Professor wasn’t someone to trust, and he very well could be a vampire; but she had handled it so poorly with her parents that she feared she lost any opportunity to speak into the matter. It reminded of her the time she had tried to warn her father about a girl at school in fourth grade that she was sure was cheating and stealing. But she had brought the whole matter up without any “concrete evidence” that her dad required. He had told her to stop letting her feelings get the better of her and encouraged her to befriend the girl. It was too late to do anything after the girl had stolen a neckless from her best friend before being expelled from the school. Her friend never got the neckless back and they never saw the girl again. Her dad only shook his head after all the information came out and acted like she hadn’t tried to warn him. It isn’t fair that no one listens to children when they say something contrary to what they believe. But that’s just the way life is. 

The kids stopped at the stairway and waited for the sly Professor to slink between them into the living-room. Was that a smirk on his face? The kids looked at one another; fear crept down their spines, and the goosebumps jutted from their necks.

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The Gate Opens

Chapter 2

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“It’s not ours,” answered Marian. 

“Whose is it?” replied Esther quickly, eager, like her brother, to see inside the gate. “Why’s it buried behind all these trees in our yard?” 

“No one will ever care that we opened it,” added Herbert, shaking with excitement. 

“Well,” Marian interjected. “I don’t think it’s right for us to go into someone else’s yard…or property…or whatever this is.” 

“It goes to the Smoky Mountains, Marian,” answered Esther. “They belong to everyone!” 

“No, they don’t.” 

“Well, they should! Anyway, I don’t see any harm in going inside. After all, it’s here in our backyard.” 

“Maybe Mom or Dad know—” 

“—What are you talking about?” Herbert jumped in. “This is just like Kyle’s grandma’s house at the end of the street in Cocoa. Those old orange groves that we played in. Nobody ever cared, and we made lots of forts inside.” 

“That place gave me poison ivy,” Esther mused.

“I’m not saying that it is that place. I’m saying it’s like it.” 

“Well, that gate was only as tall as Ess,” said Marian. “I don’t think you are getting over this thing, and I don’t see a handle anywhere.” 

Herbert looked over the gate and sighed. His oldest sister was right; the whole thing was solid oak and seamed with iron plates to the brick wall on each side, all of it twice as high as any of them. 

Esther stepped closer, close enough to smell the old earth between the wooden beams. She brushed her fingers along the peculiar designs and shapes in the wood. Dirt scraped off between her nails. Marian watched and examined the strange shape with her. 

“Looks like a gravestone,” she mused.

“Hmm, no, I think it’s a fountain,” Esther corrected. “Look here at the water spout.”

“Don’t touch it!” Marian warned.

Esther chortled. “Why not? Although,” she whispered to herself, “it does look like this bit of arm or limb is some sort of lever. Hmm. Interesting.”

While the girls examined the worn images closely, Herbert busied himself around the corner of the gate, along the far stretching wall, for another way over. Rhododendron, muscadine, and shrubs covered most of what he saw, but he was sure it led on infinitely. Perhaps if he could climb a tree! But then the idea of getting stuck on the far side frightened him. He banged his fist on the wall. Maybe the shrubbery and eroded brick would hold him. 

Ow!

His ankle hit something hard protruding from the base of the wall. Crouching down, he found an oblong stone attached to it, filthy, covered in earth. He rubbed the damp dirt from its angles and blew the soot away. It was a delicate little thing, made of soapstone, about the size of his palm, shaped like the growling face and torso of a cougar. It was a pretty ornament, the sort of trinket that would impress his mother or sisters. But for Herbert, it did nothing more than give him a first step in climbing the wall. He placed his foot on the figurine and lunged upward, grasping and flailing at the vines for support. 

Ka-Chink! 

Herbert’s foot slipped, and he stumbled to the ground. The figurine had broken from the wall.

“Oh no,” he muttered, crouching down into the ground and grabbing hold of it. He clenched his teeth and hurriedly brushed at the dirt, hoping to find a way to put it back on. After he glanced discreetly to make sure his sisters were still distracted by the door, he sighed heavily and spat on it to wipe the mud off. When he got it clean, he saw the whole backside of the animal was broken apart and splayed open—smashed against some rock when breaking free. A ray of light cut through the dark clouds and canopy to glimmer off the cougar’s emerald eyes, as if to scold him.

While he examined it, he noticed a slight purr resonating from the base of the wall. He leaned close to the hole left by the figurine and felt the faint vibrations of mechanical gears and slipping cylinders snapping into place. Intrigued and confused, he leaned closer, pressing his ear against the hole. The purr soon grew into a violent hum, and he knew soon his sisters would discover him and what he had done. He brushed the dirt from his knees and stuffed the figurine into his belt beneath his shirt.

Ba-boom!

A thunderclap roared from deep within the forest. The wall shook and swayed so violently that the trumpet vine and muscadine lattice fell from it like silly string. A plume of smoke, dirt, and ash erupted from beneath the gate. The children were smothered in a gaseous cloud. 

“Oh, my—cough!—goodness!” Esther shouted and backed her hand away from the gate. “What did I—cough! cough!—do?”

Herbert stretched out his arms and stumbled his way back to his sisters in the cloud. “What is going on?” he shouted, shuffling the figurine around to the back of his pants. 

“Ess!” Marian shouted. “What—cough!—happened?” 

“I don’t know, maybe—cough!—maybe I shouldn’t have touched that little lever. Or—I don’t know.” 

Herbert clenched the figurine behind him. “Ess…No, it’s—”

The earth quaked again, led by a cracking, creaking hollow sound like splintering wood and cracking limbs. They stared into the fog aghast as it cleared and revealed that the four-inch thick doors had broken apart and flung wide. Colors of green, violet, marigold, and orange pierced the haze like a rainbow lifting from a waterfall, thick and misty. It traveled skyward, slicing the black clouds above and letting loose the sunset in orange and pink rays. 

The children hadn’t a moment to relish its majesty as the earth continued to tremble, albeit less violent as before. A repetitive boom, like the rumble of a locomotive across an open plain, was thubbudy-thubbudy-thubbudying toward the gate, but it was not train nor machine. It was the galloping, quaint hooves of a gallant and pale Little Deer, no taller than Esther, that tore through the gate and reared on its hind legs; a cotton-white hide and shimmering white antlers that sparkled like sunshine on water. Its bleat thundered, and the kids cowered under the weight of its glory. The beast took off north, dashing across their yard, veering slightly out into the street and cutting hard west along Happy Valley Road toward Maryville. 

“Oh, my Lord,” said Marian.

“What a cute little deer!” Esther gasped.

But the girls didn’t enjoy the sight of Little Deer’s fading gallop for long. Herbert was tugging at their sides and stammering something inaudible. A deep whine, like that of a bull or whale, erupted from the forest as a large ape-like creature sauntered out of the gate. It cut through the haze, ten-feet-tall, covered in gray and yellow hair, traipsing across the forest. His eyes were slit like a cat’s, but the pupils slanted like offset blades; they blazed as fire at the children. 

The beast didn’t make a sound beyond its low whine, but its mere glance convinced them it could speak and comprehend. It dragged behind itself the field-dressed carcass of an elk bull. Backing out of its way, the children let it pass into their backyard. Gracefully, it lifted itself and the carcass onto the low branch of the sweet chestnut and flung to the metal roof over the crest of Herbert’s bedroom. 

The children refused to move until, moments later, they heard the thing’s whining howl echo from far away. 

“What did we open?” Marian asked. 

“Ew! What is this stuff?” Herbert gasped, for a thick fog had spewed out of the gate, very different from the smoke and colorful haze that had filled the air before. It hung low to the ground, only a few inches off of it, and smothered the children’s ankles as it careened down the hill to the southwest. It felt thick and tough against the skin, smooth like oily wax, ready to pull them down if they should slip. A noise clicked in the fog that gave it a life of its own—a mechanical tick-tick-tock. tick-tick-tick-tock. 

“It’s an enchanted forest,” Esther thought aloud.

“What do you mean?” Herbert gasped.

“It must be some sort of magical place!”

The children were standing dumbfounded and amazed when an obnoxious cry broke their stupor. “I sees it! I sees it all!” The voice shouted at them from the yard. “I sees what you-all did!” 

The Dolors turned to see, to their dismay, Aaron leaning on his bicycle, red hair bouncing this way and that, and pointing—similar to his buffoon dance at school earlier that morning. He dropped his bicycle into the mud and whistled snidely, his face all crooked with a grin as he skipped to the tree line. 

“What are you doing here?” Marian asked. 

“Is this what you-all do in Flahrida?” he asked, grinning. “Breakin’ open ‘chanted forest gaps that ain’t belong to ye’ns and let loose monsters?” 

“Who said it was enchanted?” Marian fired back.

“She just did, briggoty britches,” Aaron gawked, pointing at Esther.

“Yeah, well—who says we broke it open?”

“‘t was prolly good ol’ Herbie who broked it!” Aaron shouted.

“I didn’t do it!” Herbert hollered, checking to make sure his shirt still covered the figurine in his belt loop.

Shriieeee…!

The banshee scream made their blood curdle. It erupted from deep in the forest, echoing out the gate and fading faint into the mountains. The Dolors held hands and froze, too terrified to move, waiting for some new monstrosity to emerge.

“Marian,” Esther whispered. “Something is happening.”

As Aaron crept toward the others, a blue mist displaced the dense, low fog and filled the air around the gate. The children braced themselves. But their fears unnaturally faded. A smell of lavender and honey tinged their nostrils. Their muscles relaxed and they breathed calmly. Fear faded behind wonder, like the sea calls men into mysteries unknown. 

The haze thickened and spun bizarre shapes throughout its cloud, lines and circles, curves and dimples; a translucent image, long and round, crooked and fuzzy, fifteen-feet wide. It came together slowly and sure, until it was right in front of them, and now the common, recognizable shape of a man. But it wasn’t a man at all, at least, he wasn’t whole like a man. The light passed right through him, a blue misty translucence. In fact, he was a Ghost, but not the frightening kind one hears about at Halloween-time; kindness was in his eyes, and gentleness in his smile. The children recognized the faint appearance of deer-skinned garments around him—a leather sack over his shoulder, a long rifle resting in his arm, and a raccoon-skinned hat on his head that trembled in the misty blue breeze. 

“Hello children,” the Ghost greeted and dearly shocked them. “You are younger than the last time I saw you.” 

Marian broke the children’s gaping stare. “Begging your pardon, sir-Ghost, but we’ve never met you before.” 

The Ghost smirked.

“Who are you?” asked Esther.

“I am David Crockett,” said the Ghost. “And you are the children who removed thus little trinket and opened the gates to my forest.”

The Dolor children and Aaron looked at one another in disbelief. Herbert played with the figurine in his pants and shook his head discretely, ashamed.

“I’m sorry if we—” Marian began, before the Ghost interjected.

“No apologies, yet, Marian Dolor,’ interrupted the Ghost and shocking Marian that it knew her name. He looked up and down the steep door and explained. “The gate keeps bay the world’s most vile creatures. And now unto this town, it is open. With said gate insecure, these monsters roam freely. But favor has looked upon you, today, Dolor children.” He removed his coonskin hat and bowed. “The time is come for you to mend such a crisis.”

“David Crockett,” Aaron whispered to himself. “My great-pawpaw knowed arything ‘bout him.” 

Marian looked annoyed at the intruder. “Is that supposed to make you an expert?”

“What does he mean ‘mend a crisis’?” Herbert asked. 

“I dinst say I ’s an expert, you backlander,” Aaron replied. “I said my great-pawpaw knowed ‘bout him—” 

“Stop!” Esther shouted, for while Marian and Aaron were arguing, she noticed the Ghost had disappeared. The kids looked fearfully about the gate and forest threshold, cautious to enter. Marian tried at pushing the door close, but it would not budge even an inch. Oak and walnut were hanging their branches through the clearing, and sunlight fell behind them. The smell of lavender and honey had disappeared. 

“Time to go inside,” Marian ordered her younger siblings. “Goodbye, Aaron.”

Herbert and Esther quietly obeyed, following her down the slope toward their home, bewildered and afraid.

Aaron was indignant, though. “Y’ens heared what the Ghost said!” he yelled. “You gots ta shet that gap. Get dem creatures back and that gap closed.”

“He didn’t say that,” Esther replied over her shoulder.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Marian asked.

“Maybes I don’t wanna see my town ever run wit’ wowsers and snawfusses,” Aaron responded. “Maybes it’s nunna you all’s business.”

“You’re right. It is none of our business,” Marian fired back. “The gate isn’t our property, and it’s not like we can do much about it. The thing won’t move. And…and… we are talking about creatures, monsters and ghosts. We are just kids.” 

“The little deer was cool,” Herbert added quietly. 

“It’s my fault,” Esther groaned. 

“What do you mean?” Marian whispered to her. 

“I must have done something wrong,” she whispered and shook her head. “Maybe when I was brushing the dirt off of the gate—that little curve in the design. I thought it was a lever. Guys, I think I opened the gate with it.” 

Herbert gulped.

“Ess,” Marian said. “It could have been anything why it opened. It’s not our fault this thing is here.” 

“You all need ta figger dis out!” Aaron yelled at the group again from the top of the tree line. 

“We need to go in for supper!” Marian yelled back as she slammed the door shut behind them. 

---

---

A Foggy Beginning

Chapter 1

---

“I promise everything is going to be all right.” 

Dad’s words were straight and true, but left Marian wanting. They felt as elusive as the cold fog rolling over the Smokies in front of her. No matter how much she tried to catch up and hold on to them, they ran off without her. Soon, they would fade away entire, and then where would she be? Wiping a tear from her cheek, she hoped Esther and Herbert hadn’t noticed.

She sighed and shivered, anxiously waiting for the school bus to arrive and take her and her siblings off to their new school in Happy Valley, Tennessee. A late March chill huddled the girls together for warmth while their little brother counted the steps it took from one end of the block to the other. Waiting on the opposite side of the street was an unfamiliar boy with shabby red-hair, akimbo arms, and lackluster eyes. 

“What’s the bus number?” Herbert shouted from the end of the road.

“Herbert, don’t go so far down the street,” reprimanded Marian.

“Fifteen-twelve,” Esther answered him.

Herbert about-faced in the grass and walked next to the street with eyes closed, counting each step aloud. 

“Whar’d y’all a-come from?” The boy called, sporting an angry duck on his shirt and Appalachian accent on his tongue. 

Marian smiled at him. “We just moved from Cocoa.”

Half the boy’s mouth curled up and his eye squinted. “Whar’s that?”

Marian sweetened her smile, hoping it garnered a better result this time. “It’s in Florida.”

“Flahrida, huh?” The boy turned his gaze down the road nonchalantly and spat. “Mustn’t be a mighty nice town iffen I ain’t aheard it.”

Esther furrowed her brow and tilted her cheeks upward. She loved her hometown. It held the memories of running in orchards and catching grasshoppers, and its name reminded her of hot chocolate on chilly nights by the campfire. She rubbed her hands on her favorite Batgirl tee-shirt and yelled out to Herbert, echoing Marian’s sentiments. “Don’t go so far, Herb!” 

Herbert finished counting and opened his eyes. Shoot! Ten steps short. 

Marian turned to the boy and again attempted diplomacy. “I’m Marian. And this is my sister Esther, and our little brother Herbert is down the road. What’s your na—” 

“Herbie?!” The boy’s eyes grew huge and his mouth opened wide. “What kinda name’s Herbie?” 

Marian glanced at her brother. He had dropped his eyes and pursed his lips. “Well, his name is Herbert,” Marian corrected. “And what’s your name?” 

“Aarun,” the boy replied, and looked away, disinterested. 

Beep! 

The Dolor children jumped, turning to see a large black truck aimed at Herbert. Its bright headlights shone in his eyes. He had been standing in someone’s driveway, and that someone was trying to leave for work. He joined his sisters huddled in the grass and waited for the bus to arrive. The boy, Aaron, seemed to have forgotten they were there. 

“What’s our bus number?” Herbert asked again. 

“Fifteen-twelve,” Esther repeated. 

---

The smell of leather, rubber, and old cloth filled the Dolor children’s noses. The wheels rolled on the asphalt. The brakes squealed at the next stop. Steam rose from under the hood, and a puff of black exhaust exploded from the tailpipe. The accordion door opened. Four more kids entered the bus and found seats. The door shut. A gear scratched and rattled; the bus kicked a step forward, paused, hiccuped, and took off for the next stop. On and on this went, until twenty-five kids were on the bus headed to Carpenters Elem-Middle fifteen minutes away on a straight shot. 

The bus was a cacophony of noises, shouts, squeals, and laughter. Herbert sat, quiet, in the middle of the bus with a seat to himself. The girls had left him for the back, making conversation with another young lady named Beth. 

The bus stopped again and let on another group.

A shout from the front. “What is that smell?”

Another howl. “It smells terrible!”

A high-pitched shriek from the tantrum. “There’s poop in the aisle!” 

In an instant, every boy and girl jumped up and looked. Fingers pointed. Accusations arose. Fights brewed. Everyone wanted to know where it came from and who had done it. 

The bus-driver, Mr. Cunningham, stood up and hollered for silence. Each child shot down to their seats while snickering and whispering. The old man looked at the aisle and sure enough, the excrement stamp of a shoe made its way down the bus. 

“Everyone stay seated,” Mr. Cunningham ordered with the same tone he had used when he served in the Army for twenty years. He took a step and looked at the feet of the three kids in Seat One and Two. Nothing there. 

He took a step and looked at the four in Seat Three and Four. Nothing. 

The snickering and whispering grew in volume, and each boy and girl looked at their partner’s foot, pointing false accusations. Herbert glanced at his feet, and to his amazed horror, the brown filth of what once belonged to a dog covered his right sneaker. It must have been that yard! The blood rushed from his face. He looked up. Mr. Cunningham was only a few rows away. On his first day! Clutching his backpack, he pointed his feet away from the aisle. His heart raced, sweat dribbled down his jawline. 

Seat Eleven and Twelve. Nothing.

Mr. Cunningham stepped forward.

Herbert’s feet shuffled. The left foot pinned his right to the wall of the bus. His eyes stared blankly ahead at the back of the torn leather seat in front of him, refusing to even glance at Mr. Cunningham. 

Mr. Cunningham stepped forward and looked at Herbert’s feet. Then he scanned Seat Twelve. He took a step and continued on to Thirteen and Fourteen. 

Herbert closed his eyes and exhaled a prayer of gratitude. 

Down the aisle Mr. Cunningham went until he turned from the back of the bus, confused and scratching his shaking head. 

“Who is it?!” a boy’s voice hollered. 

“Heshup!” Cunningham ordered and quickly raced to the front of the idling bus, tiptoeing around the mess. 

The bus kicked into gear. Thrust, stop, hiccup, roll. The boys and girls once again laughed, pointed, and accused, as Herbert melted into indecisive misery.

After a few minutes, the elementary-middle school came into sight. The bus veered into the loop, and fifteen-twelve parked behind twenty-one-oh-four. Every student stood at their seat like packed hens in a coop, and the accordion door swung open. The line of children crawled down the aisle while Herbert watched and waited at his seat for his sisters to meet him. 

“Esther!” Herbert whispered in her ear as she approached. She looked away from her new friend and smiled affectionately. 

“It’s me,” said he. “Esther, I have the poop-shoe.”

Her eyes grew in disbelief. “Okay,” she whispered. “Stand behind me.” 

The chicken line dragged on, and Herbert saw the end draw near. Maybe if he could get off the bus behind Esther, he could hide his feet in the grass quick enough that no one would notice. He’d have to get behind those bushes and clean his shoes. The thought of Mr. Cunningham’s disapproval, the kids laughing—it was too much to bear. 

Esther whispered a few words of encouragement. “Just stay behind me.” 

Through the passing windows, Herbert saw a group gathering just outside the door. They were jeering, pointing, mocking, imitating the act of defecating on one another’s shoes. Oh, God! They were waiting for him!

Esther stepped down and through the accordion door. Herbert took a breath and raced after her, trying to keep up until he made it to cover. Oh, but why was she rushing off to the right? Didn’t she know he needed to get to that patch of grass and that bush to clean the stuff off of him? Oh, no! It was too late! 

“It’s Herbie!” The snide voice of Aaron hollered. 

Herbert’s eyes shot back and forth in disbelief. He looked down and saw his foot covered in the excrement, a glistening, hideous, brown stain in the early sunlight. There was no way he would have been able to conceal it. It was everywhere! The group of boys cackled like hyenas, and one fell over in the grass as Aaron bounced like a baboon and mocked. “Herbie! Poopie! Herbie!” 

“Herbie stepped in the poop!” they shouted. “Herbie stepped in the poop!” 

Tears filled the young boy’s eyes. Esther spun round to help, but he was gone, racing down the lane and diving into a bush to cry and sulk. From the back of the remaining kids on the bus, Marian shoved her way through and burst from the accordion doors. She was three months older and two inches taller than Aaron, and didn’t appreciate the way he danced like a buffoon at her brother’s expense. Aaron, lost in hysterics, didn’t even notice Marian lumbering toward him at a near gallop as she squared him up and dropped him to his knees with her fist. Shocked and taken aback, the group cackled even louder, half of them mocking Aaron and the others jeering him on to strike her back. Scowling and barking, he leapt to his feet to say something ugly. 

“Enough!” Mr. Cunningham shouted. “Get to class, all of ya’s!” 

Marian sighed in relief, knowing Mr. Cunningham seemed more interested in moving the kids along rather than punishing her for the physical outburst. She and Esther searched for Herbert in the bustling flood of elementary and middle school kids, but could not find him. Pressing against the red brick wall, they waited until a sharp lady with a short black haircut, tight blue skirt, and stern face ordered them away. 

“On to class, girls. No lallygagging.”

“But our brother,” Marian argued. “We are waiting—”

“He’ll get to class too. Now, off you go!”

Absent from all the ridiculing faces, Herbert had found a bush to cry inside of. He attempted to clean his shoe in the grass and dirt, but it only smeared the mark up the sides and throughout the rubber lining. 

“Stupid! Stupid!” he muttered, angry and pitiful. His chest rose and fell with shaking vibrato. Oh, some was on his hand now! “Stupid Aaron! Stupid dog!”

“Sweetie, are you okay?”

He looked up, gasping, red-faced and sweaty.

A short, kind-faced lady had heard him as she made her way across the walkway to the nurse’s office. He could not speak. He merely motioned to his shoe and blubbered as a toddler. 

“It’s okay now,” the woman consoled. “Follow me. We will get that all cleaned up and get you back to class.” 

---

The kids half expected to see each other at lunchtime, but Carpenters Elem-Middle had an odd block scheduling that kept them from one another. This probably hurt little Esther on her first day the most. It didn’t help that she was a full inch shorter than anyone else in Mr. Oulette’s class, but that brat Aaron was in her class, too! Even though he was as old as Marian, he had been held back for bad behavior a year prior. He took the opportunity to tell most of the students about Herbert’s shoe ordeal and pointed out Esther as the poop-boy’s sister. 

Outside the cafeteria, she leaned against its cinderblock walls, waiting for her class to enter. Pursing her lips and furrowing her brow, she clutched the three dollars and fifty cents Mrs. Dolor had provided for lunch. A long list of food options, prices, colors, and pictures on the small sign at the end of the line confused her. Why were there so many options? The money shook in her little hand as the line grew shorter and shorter and her turn approached. 

“Excuse me,” Esther’s tender voice whispered to the boy in front of her.

He turned and gazed down at her, towering two feet over her.

“Do you know what we should buy for lunch?” she asked, hoping for a shred of congeniality.

The boy’s left eye squinted, and his lip jerked up in a crooked smile. He gawked and looked at his friend. They chuckled together but Esther didn’t understand the joke. “Whatever you want, shrimp.” The boy shrugged and turned away . 

Her gaze dropped, and she clutched her money tight. Taking a deep breath, she remembered what Mrs. Dolor had said about bravery and prayer. She nodded her head slowly and pushed back the hurt feelings. Behind her, three girls chatted loudly about another who had kissed a boy for the first time the night before. She faced them, hoping to be invited into the conversation. One’s eye caught Esther, and the group acknowledged her. Esther smiled bravely and waved her hand out, still clutching the three dollars and fifty cents. The nearest girl studied Esther’s Batgirl tee that read: “I’m a Superhero!”, and then slowly drew her eyes back up to Esther’s face. 

“You’re not cool,” the girl said icily. The others burst into laughter before they continued their conversation without Esther. 

Esther clenched her jaw and her eyes glazed over, ready to cry. But she couldn’t let anyone see. Her eyelids fluttered, her lips sunk between her teeth, and she looked away to the ceiling. Where was she? Why would her parents send her to a place like this? She wanted to be back with her friends so badly. She longed for the halls of Jack London Middle. She missed knowing what was for lunch and being able to pronounce her teacher’s name without looking like a fool. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to curl up and die. 

---

On the bus ride home, the Dolor children sat crammed together in one single seat near the front. Dad had said, “Everything was going to be alright.” But he clearly had not known anything about Carpenters Elementary Middle. 

Herbert hadn’t any friends. In fact, he refused to speak a word to anyone in his class. A few of the faces he recognized from that morning’s bus ride, and he saw the side glances and giggles from across the room. How could he ever look Mr. Cunningham in the face again? 

No matter how hard Esther tried, she couldn’t push the cutting words out of her head. She was “not cool”.

The sky swirled in rolls of tar paper and blankets of gray cotton. As they stepped off the bus at Bobcat Street, the heavens opened and a deluge of angry, cold rain jettisoned at them and nearly swept Esther down the steep, slippery road. A quarter mile of running furiously through the storm, another eighth of a mile up Bell Branch, and they stamped their feet at the front door of the new, but very old, Dolor farmhouse. As they drenched the old wooden floors, the sky cleared and the rain turned to a light drizzle. 

“Well, how do you like that?” Marian said, flinging water from her arms and entering. 

---

Later, Herbert found Esther in the living-room with Mrs. Dolor. Their mother, Anita, was a rare beauty that balanced well the care of her appearance and refusing the expense or discomfort normally afforded it. She lounged on the couch with a history book between her drawn-up knees, as Esther sat uncomfortably nearby, struggling to focus on the adventure book in her lap. Mr. Dolor was away at work late, as had been his custom since taking his new job. 

Visibly bored by his mother and sister’s solitude, Herbert lowered his head and peered through the window. “Where’s Marian?” 

“I believe she’s upstairs, dear,” Mrs. Dolor answered.

“She’s writing a play,” Esther added, face down.

Herbert’s eyes widened, and he pursed his lips, scrunching them up to the top of his left cheek. He paced around the room like a puppy, searching for nothing apparent. “Esther—,” he began in a childish tone.

“It’s too muddy outside, Herb,” she said, still fixed on the book. Only Esther and Mr. Dolor called him Herb, which he didn’t mind giving the exclusivity of.

The porch door out the back of the kitchen creaked open and slammed shut. Esther finally looked up from her book. Herbert was gone. She returned to the book. Then back to the door. Her mother was watching her.

“How was your first day of school, sweetie?” Mrs. Dolor asked. 

Esther shrugged. 

---

“The great swordsman—no, the Pirate, Herbert the Heroic, battles Aaron the Atrocious to the death! A battle of wits and ends!” The boy swung a long stick in the air over his head and thrust it down onto a make-believe enemy. “En garde, you stupid fathead!” The stick hit the side of the sweet chestnut tree in the backyard and shook a dead branch from it. 

“It looks like Aaron the Atrocious has no chance,” a friendly voice called from above. 

Herbert faltered, tripped on his own feet, and looked up to see Marian dangling her feet from a low branch with a notebook and pen in her hand, smiling. 

“Mom said you were upstairs,” said Herbert.

She shrugged. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Herbert retorted, and then lowered his arms and swung his stick through the air again, valiantly. “I’m Herbert the Heroic. I don’t get scared.” He hit the trunk, and Marian went back to her writing. Next thing he knew, a frisbee hit him in the back of the head. He turned round to see Esther giggling with her hands over her mouth. 

“Oops,” she snickered. “I didn’t mean to, I promise.”

“Too muddy!” mocked Herbert.

In a moment, the two were running about the tree, while Marian wrote her story from the branch. The yard between the chestnut and porch became an office where they pushed imaginary paper and faxed faux documents; Esther was the boss, and Herbert was behind schedule. The muddy pile of walnut branches became a tar pit surrounding a volcano where a Tyrannosaurus Rex lived; Herbert was the dinosaur, and Esther was the wizard who would zap it to smithereens. And the tree-line was a racetrack, the frisbee a flying saucer; Marian joined in the race as each of them took turns outrunning the alien attack. 

The frisbee spiraled on a wild wind and flung itself past the forest line, deep into honeysuckle and rhododendron. Herbert bumbled after it, pushing maple branches from his face and the dark green rhododendron from his body. He snatched the bright red frisbee up, and it scraped something rough and hollow behind the bushes. His lips curled, his eyes flashed, and he cocked his head. 

Pulling down a string of honeysuckle wrapped in trumpet vine, he revealed a large wooden gate, framed by rusty wrought iron. Stepping back, he gazed in awe at the black iron spires extending beyond its top, finials eleven-and-a-half feet high. Its sides were flush against rectangular brick pillars, three-and-a-half feet in diameter, joining an old brick wall, covered in lichen and vines, running the entire length of the private wood. 

“Come here!” he shouted to his sisters at the edge of the forest. 

The girls fought through the dense brush up the slope to find their little brother standing in front of a massive door at the edge of the Smoky Mountains. 

“Let’s get it open!” Herbert cheered. 

---

---

A Council Darkly

Chapter 1

---

“Leave your regrets here to regain life there.” 
– Nunnehi Proverb

---

The moon shone her soft, shimmery glory down upon the blue-grey forest. Under the crushed black shadows of the spindly forest-fingers, three peculiar figures huddled together in a secret council of grave concern. A cerulean haze formed round the first, who was nothing more than the ghostly translucent image of a man from long ago. Beside him, and nudging its long, valiant snout into his vaporous side, was the dimly, black and white shape of a magnificent unicorn. And before both of them was the grand, hulking silhouette of a very tall and long-haired man, whose eyes flamed white in the darkness. 

“The stars have spoken, David,” said the Hairy Figure; his voice was rough like loose gravel over a tarmac. “This marks the final dawn afore the Convergence arrives.”

“’Tis an excit’ng moment in history, Tsul ’Kalu,” replied the Ghost enlivened; his voice was sweet and smooth like wine and rose-hips. 

“Hush yourselves, lads,” warned the Unicorn, stern yet cautious. “We do not need the forest to know what we scheme.”

“Kananeski Amaiyehi has spok’n t’ the trees,” replied the Ghost. “We needn’t worry.”

“’Tis not the trees I’m worried of,” said the Unicorn.

The company silenced themselves and gazed into the darkness, listening to the still calm of murmuring crickets and long rolling exhale of the Unicorn. A tree’s branch creaked overhead and they heard the flapping of a bird’s departure; they waited a moment longer until hearing its distant squawk from over the mountain.

“Is your plan set?” Asked the Unicorn.

“I will bring the world of men a gift,” replied the Hairy Figure, Tsul ‘Kalu. “And with it a warning.”

“I must ‘dmit,” said the Ghost. “I still find it foolhardy.” 

“We must at least try to speak to the world of men, David,” said the Unicorn. 

“The stars do not yield us all the particulars we may want,” added Tsul ‘Kalu. “But they are faithful to deliver the ones we need.”

The Ghost nodded. 

“I will be returning to my mountain in Tsunegunyi, tonight,” said Tsul ‘Kalu. “I shall guide Ahyoka to Newton, and leave her there until I return.”

“Wise, my friend,” replied the Unicorn. “Why are you smiling, David?”

“I’m not grinning from jest, my friends,” said the Ghost, David. “I am merely confident—and therefore, a bit excited for—the children.”

“Their coming brings me joy as well, David,” said the Unicorn to the Ghost. “Yet sorrow is in my heart tonight.” 

“I know it, Diamond, my brother,” replied the Ghost and he put his translucent hand out to touch the Unicorn’s mane. “We shan’t all live for’ver. But on the far side of death is an etern’ty.” 

“Easy for you to claim,” replied Tsul ‘Kalu. “Some of us want to hold on to what life we have here and now.” 

“You trust the stars ‘nd world of men,” replied David. “But I ‘ave seen the end from the beginning. I know the salv’tion of our forest hither not lie in conversations ‘ith politicians.”

“Udo-Hiyui!” exclaimed the Hairy Figure, forgetting his whisper and finding it again after the look on his shocked companions’ faces. “It lies in battle,” he whispered. 

“I am not certain of that either, friend,” replied the Ghost. “My faith is in what ‘as been set in motion from afore Time began. And they shall be here soon.”

“What will you tell them when they come?” Asked the Unicorn.

“Only of what they must hear,” replied David.

“Then you will not tell them of what shall happen if they enter?” inquired Tsul ‘Kalu. “Will you not tell them of the treachery upon their family?” 

“The op’ning of that gate shall ‘appen regardless of what I reveal to them,” said the Ghost sternly. “And ‘ny amount I del’ver them must be filt’red through what ‘as already been said and done.”

“Then you truly believe it has already been done?” Asked the Unicorn.

“It has been written in the stars, Diamond,” answered Tsul ‘Kalu. “And though I disagree with much of David’s words and how he goes about—I do agree the children are an important part of this story. The stars tell me that they must walk through this pain if they are to wield our salvation.”

“I am not in doubt, Tsul ’Kalu,” replied the Unicorn. Here, the Unicorn looked the Ghost fiercely in the eyes. “I only pry at you, David, because I must know for certain that you will let them fail on their path to success. This will not be easy for them, therefore, it will not be easy for one who follows his heart as much as you yourself.”

The Ghost nodded slowly, mulling the words in an uncharacteristic fashion. He looked emphatically in the Unicorn’s eyes. “You know greater than any that my faith is willing to sacrifice those I love the most,” he said.

The Unicorn bowed his head. “Yes, well, that’s a bit different.” 

“There is always the concern that the children do not enter the forest,” mused Tsul ‘Kalu.

“Of course they shall!” David exclaimed, grinning.

“I have not doubts in the stars,” continued Tsul ‘Kalu. “But I do in these deeni-yoli.”

“This counsel tempts traveling in circles,” interrupted the Unicorn. “Has not David seen they were the children to come and accomplish this feat? Has not he witnessed the Convergence from before it became? Is not he the one to guard the Atagahi? Has not our centuries of preparation and waiting led us to this moment? Why do you speak with such falsities now?”

“Forgive me of my fear, Horse-King,” replied Tsul ‘Kalu. “It is not my intent to doubt or worry. And it is not in my bones to hold such. Yet, I fear for my Ahyoka and kin. And you must admit—by the very concealment of this counsel—that you too, believe it is easily feared.”

“I do not fear the truth,” replied the Unicorn. “I merely understand that lesser animals may not comprehend it.” 

“If we let these children undo the protection we’ve held in place for centuries, in a moment, all could be lost. We won’t be keeping Utlunta or Uktena at bay—we will be letting the most diabolical Creature to have ever come from Creation walk into this forest again. And if the Lake isn’t protected—”

“It shall be, friend,” said the Ghost, smiling. “That pr’tection was set in-to place cent’ries past.” 

“And if I fail? If Diamond fails? And if the children fail?” 

The Ghost smirked at Tsul ‘Kalu. “I promise you,” said he, “that if all failed and th’se ch’ldren ne’er accomplished this—the gl’ries of Heaven would save th’s place afore it let som’thing as pitiful as Time d’stroy it. Now, enough of this di’logue. Diamond is correct—it travels in circles. Depart and take your bride again. One day, I believe you shall look upon th’se ch’ldren as I have, Tsul ‘Kalu, and then—you shall see the misery you have brought upon me today to speak ill of them. And you, Diamond, pr’pare the Fae-folk to flee; I hope that none ‘re lost in the dis’rray. Come, friends, let us pray afore the much we ‘ave to do.” 

---