The Children of the White Tree: Brady Barrett and the Firstlings Assignment

By J. F. Gates

Seven children
Assigned to save the Earth
Ridiculous? Yes
Impossible? No
Not when the seven receive special gifts from the King.
Then, anything is possible!

An ancient evil has risen in the realms of the universe. The Dark Lord, Gribbain, the most feared sorcerer in the realms, has been released from his long prison exile to walk unhindered in his evil pursuit to rule them all. Long ago, Gribbain promised vengeance against his nemeses, Essais of Kenrith and Ameth of Naveah. Above all else, he intends to fulfill that promise. He is Destroyer, and he will live up to his name.

But Ameth the Just, the Most High Ruler of the Realms, has chosen a peculiar army to overthrow Gribbain. He has chosen children. Brady Barrett and six others will join together in a quest to save the realms from Gribbains planned reign of terror, whether they want to or not.

Unbeknown to Gribbain, his top aide, Belthryd of Oricus, fancies himself as the true Dark Lord, destined to take Gribbains place. His plan includes the creation of the most hideous and fiendish monsters ever imagined. Creatures of incredible strength and intelligence formed in the dark belly of the Underworld.

The Seven, a nickname by which Brady and the other six become known, are caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with an enemy they have never heard of, and from which they might not escape. Only the Most High Ruler knows the importance of convincing the Seven that their services are desperately needed in order for the powerful Navean Army to win the war.

The Seven have powerful gifts given to them by the Most High Ruler, gifts they were never aware ofgifts that, in the end, could destroy them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781449717148

J. F. Gates

J.F. Gates has six grandchildren, who inspired her to write her stories. Soon, it became a labor of love toward all children searching for heroes and heroines with whom they could identify, through the trials and tribulations of Brady Barrett and six friends. And, my goodness, secret portals, talking cats, dragons, friendships, adventure and danger...what more could a kid ask for? Her secret ambition for many years was to write stories that would let children know how much their Heavenly Father loves them. She feels her experiences from a childhood she remembers quite well, as a teenager, a married mother of three and then a grandmother of six and the lessons learned from those experiences well qualifies her to write books and books and more books for young people: books which tell of God's love and that He can be trusted, if they will stick with Him. J. F. (Joan or Joni, to her friends) was born in Halifax, England, and at the age of two, she and her mother immigrated to the United States. She has always been a 'country girl', even though she's had to live in town part of her life. She loves animals, particularly cats, horses and (sometimes) dogs. She also enjoys visiting her children and grandchildren, writing (of course), camping, and craft fairs. She gives all the glory to her Lord Jesus for any success she may have in getting her books into the hands of children, and, yes, adults. We live in perilous times, and everyone needs a hero or a heroine whom they can trust to show them the way to Jesus and God's Kingdom.

Book preview

The Children of the

White Tree

Brady Barrett and the Firstlings Assignment

J. F. Gates

missing image file

Copyright © 2011 J. F. Gates

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1-[phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-1713-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-1716-2 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-1714-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011928528

Visit J.F. Gates on the web at http://childrenofthewhitetree.webplus.net

Printed in the United States of America

WestBow Press rev. date: 7/26/2011

Janine and Mark, thank you my darlings

for reading it.

Vic, my friend, for critiquing it

John S., for taking the time to read it

For Diane, Eileen, and John,

who encourage me to see this work to its end

Ernest, for putting up with me through it all,

Thank you, my love.

To my Lord Jesus Christ; without You, none of this

would have been possible

Contents

Prologue NIGHTMARE

One DISCOVERY

Two THE SCAR-FACED MAN

Three THE BOOK OF THE ANCIENTS

Four ROLIS

Five GATE NUMBER SEVEN

Six CHOSEN

Seven A STRANGE NEW WORLD

Eight THE FIRST NIGHT

Nine THE SURPRISE PARTY

Ten THE INVISIBLE MAN

Eleven THE CARETAKER

Twelve THE FIRSTLINGS ASSIGNMENT

Thirteen THE PROPHETESS

Fourteen EAGLES, LIONS AND PANTHERS

Fifteen A CHANGE OF NAMES

Sixteen LETTERS FROM HOME

Seventeen THE TOWER

Eighteen THE WHITE TREE

Nineteen THE TALE OF TWO SONS

Twenty THE WOLVES OF BRACKENS DEEP

Twenty-One A RISING EVIL

Twenty-Two RAISING THE STAKES

Twenty-Three THE ENEMY WITHIN

Twenty-Four THE HORSES OF MIDDLEMAS

Twenty-Five PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

Twenty-Six SECRETS AND LIES

Twenty-Seven A FRIEND IN NEED…

Twenty-Eight A NEW CHALLENGE

Twenty-Nine A MAN NAMED OGDEN

Thirty THE INVITATION

Thirty-One FLIGHT AND PURSUIT

Thirty-Two SYLVESTER’S SWEETS SHOPPE

Thirty-Three SAINT VALENTINE’S DAY

Thirty-Four CHAINED!

Thirty-Five THE RECKONING

Thirty-Six A LIFE FOR A LIFE

Thirty-Seven GOING HOME

Prologue

NIGHTMARE

Thin, angry streaks of red and purple bruised the far eastern horizon. The early dawn, moody and unpredictable this day, crept above the ragged edges of the great span of mountains, squinting between it and the clouds, as if unable to endure the awakening day. Soon the sun would rise and display the carnage wreaked by an ancient, unholy evil in the shadowed valley below.

His name was Destroyer.

Destroyer’s arch-enemy had won this battle, but at a terrible price. Although Destroyer had lost, the minds of many now belonged to him. He wasn’t particularly worried about his losses; but, the boy; yes, the boy as scrawny as his little finger presented a problem that he hadn’t foreseen. He would need the full might of his army and his powers to destroy that one.

Why, he wondered, should one insignificant little human present such a big problem? A dark, soulless fire burned in his evil heart and he raged at such a small nuisance with so much power.

On the horizon, the first light began its lazy upward ascent, and finally reached above the clouds. Slowly, the details in the valley became clearer.

The boy stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the blackened plain. In the aftermath of the fighting and violence of the night, small fires burned here and there, and the acrid stench of smoke and sulfur drifted upward into the still air. In the distance, people stumbled along uncertainly, scratching wearily through the bloodstained rubble. They seemed to be searching for something.

‘They’re looking for their families,’ the boy thought. Tears trembled in his eyes. What would they do? Everything they’d ever possessed was gone, torn away and devastated as only the Destroyer and his deadly minions could do.

Suddenly, a mass of darkness, darker than midnight, arose before the boy, spilling over the cliff and crawling toward him. The nauseous odor that rolled off it seemed to permeate the very pores in the boy’s skin. The ghastly vision horrified him, even as it drew him.

Brady Barrett! Destroyer said. The voice summoned visions of shadows and death from the darkest regions of the universe. You’ve won this battle and were protected, but rest assured, next time, when I come for you, you will not have your precious king nearby to save you…

Next time? When was the first time?

Out of the dawning sky an ear-splitting squeal pierced the still air. An enormous dragon, its silver and purple scales shimmering in the first strobes of early sunrise, swooped toward them. Astride the thick neck, a Rider wearing white military fatigues and a dark billowing cloak rode with certain ease. He held a gnarled staff in one hand and a double-edged sword in the other. For one surreal moment, the boy thought he should know who the Rider was, but if he’d had any hidden knowledge, any idea, it was quickly swept away in the face of this new danger.

YOU WILL NEVER WIN! Destroyer roared as the Rider banked in front of him.

The massive black body billowed into the shape of a gigantic dragon. You can’t begin to KNOW the powers I have at my disposal! I will have my revenge! Destroyer snaked his huge head toward the Rider and nearly hooked the dragon’s membranous wing with his huge saw-toothed mouth. The Rider and his dragon twisted around, and the Rider, with a sudden mighty thrust, plunged his sword deep into the massive head of the beast. Hideous shrieks rent the air.

The boy’s eyes widened with disbelief as he watched the monster dissolve, heaving and screaming, burning and writhing in an agonizing ritual of death. It collapsed into a twisted heap on the rocks below the cliff.

The boy called Brady Barrett stared down the cliff-side at the smoldering remains. He seemed powerless to move. What had just happened here? Was it dead? What did all this distruction mean?

Then, in the blink of an eye, a powerful gust of air slammed him to the ground as the dragon and its Rider banked in front of him. Brady’s heart leaped into his throat and he fell onto the partially-singed grasses. Dazed with shock, he scrambled to a sitting position. The Rider’s eyes flashed like blue fire, and seemed to look into his very soul, dissecting him and then knitting him together again. A strange light, pale and soft, shimmered around the Rider.

Silence fell, heavy and complete.

The time has come, Brady Barrett, the Rider said. His voice was deep and clear and without malice.

Was it a ruse, or could he be trusted?

What do you mean? Brady asked, confusion wrinkling his brow. What time?

You must be ready, said the Rider. He seemed as calm as the windless morning itself, as if he were reciting the time of day.

Brady lost the tight grip he’d fought for with his patience, and his voice rose in frustration (and fear, if you were to have asked him). Angrily, he shoved himself to his feet. What time? What are you talking about? Who are you? he yelled, even as his voice trembled.

The Rider calmly held out a gloved hand. Come, I will explain.

As if he had no will of his own, he took the Rider’s hand, which propelled Brady up behind him into the saddle. The dragon’s great wings beat downward and they rose into the air, beginning a slow circular ascent into the deceptively benign sky above. A light breeze whispered innocently in Brady’s ears.

He was not fooled by the serenity of the skies. Fear draped around him like a shroud. The air was too quiet, and the sky, too clear, too calm.

Who was this dragon Rider? What was the strange glow of light that surrounded him like a wreath? What did he want with a boy who lived out his dreams and fantasies in the pages of a book?

Without warning the dragon reeled about and they plummeted toward the desolate valley below. Brady barely had time to wrap his arms around the Rider’s waist before they landed near the burned skeletal remains of what had once been a small bungalow, someone’s home.

The dragon crouched on its forelegs while the Rider slipped out of the saddle and dropped lightly to the charred earth. He held up a helping hand to the boy, but when Brady levered his leg over the saddle, he felt himself sliding, losing control. The Rider caught him by the waist before he hit the ground, and Brady once again received the full impact of the Rider’s brilliant eyes. His chest burned within him.

I should know him.

The Rider set Brady on his feet. Brady gazed about, shaking his head in dazed disbelief. From the cliff top, details had not been clear, but down here… Slaughtered bodies, human and animal, lay scattered about and more burned-out buildings creaked in ruined defeat, bowing to the earth. Bile rose in his throat.

Why am I here? What have I to do with all of this? Tears gathered in his eyes.

Nearby, a group of women stared at the dirt and rubble around them. A small girl clutched the skirts of a younger woman with one hand, and in the other, clutched to her chest, were the charred fragments of a doll. She sobbed softly. Another woman kneeled on the scorched ground, her face buried in her hands and her voice rising in an unearthly wail. A body lay by her side, barely recognizable as a human,.

Farther away, a huddle of men picked and shoveled half-heartedly at a mound of debris, side-stepping the narrow trickles of half-congealed blood that gaped like open wounds in the scarred earth.

‘You can‘t give up! Please! Don’t give up!’ The shout echoed in Brady’s head. Compassion shattered his heart. Yet, why did it seem so important? He yearned for an answer, but he couldn’t utter the question, so stunned was he.

This, Brady, is the result of evil that knows no boundaries, said the Rider. Again his eyes drilled into Brady’s soul — eyes that seemed to hold all the knowledge of the universe and every secret intent of Brady’s heart.

You have been chosen to help destroy this enemy who commits these terrible atrocities against my people. It is time, Brady.

B-but, wasn’t that the enemy you just killed? That ─ that thing? I just saw you do it, didn’t I?

I wish it were so. All I did was send it away for a moment. To banish it completely requires a sacrifice, which, as we speak, is in the process of preparation.

What sacrifice? Why? Brady cried. His heart beat frantically, not liking where the conversation was going.

Someone worthy must give himself up to the Enemy for the sake of the people, so the world can be rid of this evil presence.

What? That’s just sick! Brady cried angrily. Why can’t you kill it? Why waste any more lives?

Because a sacrifice is required, Brady, the Rider said patiently, the innocent for the guilty. It is what the Most High Ruler of the Realms calls for. It is the only just way. You must be brave, Brady Barrett.

Wh ─ Who… is it?

He must be the rightful heir to the throne… It is I.

Brady’s eyes widened with shock and disbelief. What sort of ruler would expect such a horrible thing of his people, especially his heir? How could the sacrifice of another life accomplish or excuse anything? He opened his mouth wanting fiercely to howl at the injustice.

But Brady could only stare into the face of the Rider, who had just announced he was a ruler’s heir, meant to sacrifice his life for the sake of his people. Memory, elusive as the morning breeze once again teased the edges of his subconscious. Sometime… somewhere… he had heard things… and then, the memory was gone, like a wisp of smoke fading into the air.

Have… have we met before? Brady asked, half curious, half afraid.

The Rider smiled, and replied, A long time ago, Brady…

Suddenly, the wind gusted across the ground, plucked up litter and dirt as it went, and flung it playfully into the air. Brady raised his eyes to the sky just as a jagged spear of lightening slashed across the southern horizon. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something else was coming… He could feel it in his skin as it prickled uneasily.

The earth began to tremble beneath him, and the wind, no longer playful, grew wild and strong. Thick, dark purplish-red clouds raced toward him. He looked to the earth and terror threatened to overcome him. The monstrous horror that had appeared earlier while Brady had stood on the cliff emerged out of the ground a distance away, larger and more frightening than before. It rushed forward, preceded by a flash of fire. An intense explosion of greenish-yellow light followed the fire.

Run! shouted the Rider, stepping in front of Brady, shielding him.

But, Brady couldn’t run. The strengthening wind whipped and pulled at his hair and clothing, and almost threw him to the ground. Still he gazed, petrified, horrified by that awful light, unable to look away.

Now, arcs of electricity snaked out from the center of the fire and enveloped the Rider, lifting him off the ground and suspending him in the air. Like a cat playing with a mouse, it twirled him round and round, and the Rider seemed helpless to stop it.

Brady fell to his knees, horrified.

Roaring in unmistakable triumph, the black beast continued its vicious attack on the Rider. It began pulling him into that terrible fire, using those awful, terrible snakes of electricity, and Brady heard the Rider’s ululating words rise above the howling wind. In an agonized voice, he cried out, It is complete! NOW, Brady, the time has come! Prepare yourself!

Brady’s scream ripped from his throat as he watched the dreadful scene unfold before him.

Brady awoke, gasping for breath as tears trickled down his cheeks and dripped onto his pillow.

One

DISCOVERY

For two months, Brady Barrett had been plagued with the same dream at least four nights a week. No, not just a dream, but a nightmare. Each time, he’d awoken with a gargled scream on his lips and sweat rolling off his body. He’d done everything he could think of to stop the nightmare. He’d even resorted to drinking warm milk for several nights. It would induce a nice calm sleep, his grandmother promised, but at the end of a week, the very thought of warm milk made him want to retch! Moreover, the warm milk didn’t seem to have any effect in bringing peaceful sleep, and the dreams continued to plague him, right on its every-other-night schedule.

What niggled at him during his waking hours was that he had the feeling he should know who the mysterious Dragon Rider was. But, try as he might, he could not put a name or a time of meeting with him.

The other question was why he was having such nightmares in the first place. He did not understand, unless maybe Lenny Hines’s constant bullying was to blame. Lenny’s presence in Brady’s life had been a constant threat to him, especially during the last school year. Thankfully, Brady had a special ability which had always managed to save him from Lenny. He could run very fast. None of his classmates knew of this, for he kept it as much a secret as possible. Brady was not one to enjoy a spotlight on him.

He was, however, very glad he could escape, but afterward, he always felt it was more by sheer luck than anything else. He had to admit, though, that it did save him each time, from Lenny’s fists and feet and strangle-holds. The ability to run fast could have been anyone’s talent, but for Brady, the talent was peculiar. He didn’t know how he did it, but he could outrun anyone in Mountain Haven and for miles around. It had always been with him for as long as he could remember. Some would say it was a gift.

Yes, Brady could run fast.

Very ─ very ─ fast!

Yet, it just wasn’t bad enough that Lenny singled him out to stalk and annoy him. Every day, Brady had to keep a close watch in case Lenny and his evil friends showed up unexpectedly, and he often had to think up ingenious ways to get away from them. It was never easy!

Then, school had ended for the summer, and Brady would have a respite from Lenny and his cruel friends, and could get on with his life intact!

So, why all of a sudden was he having the same nasty nightmare every other night? Instead of Lenny paralyzing him with fear, it was the nightmare that paralyzed him with fear!

It was only a bad dream, right?

Summer was usually Brady’s favorite time of the year, mainly because his birthday took place on the first day of July, but he wouldn’t enjoy it much this year if he couldn’t find a way to end the nightmare. Desperation drove him to ask his nine-year-old sister, Jillian, who, in spite of being his sister, was his best friend (and an expert with computers), to research the internet about nightmares and how to make them go away. But Jillian was also the most curious person he knew and when Brady told her the dream she’d wanted to know every detail and, naturally, she thought it was the coolest thing she’d ever heard.

She sooo didn’t have a clue.

But, so far in her research, she’d only managed to come up with the same things that Brady’d already tried, including drinking warm milk before bed.

Blech!

Surely he wouldn’t have the nightmare forever.

Would he?

Now Brady loved to read and he spent most of his summer afternoons in the Mountain Haven Library. He figured if he couldn’t find an answer to the nightmare problem in a book, then there probably wasn’t one. The library had become Brady’s escape from his very ordinary life. He took a certain kind of pleasure and comfort in the odors of books and ink and paper, in which he felt… safe… Another person would think it a rather strange way of looking at it, but it made complete sense to Brady. The two or three friends he had thought of him as a bookworm, but that didn’t seem to bother them. They accepted him anyway, and when they played video games, Brady read his favorite adventure books losing himself in faraway kingdoms, brave knights and fire-breathing dragons, unseen countries and even other worlds.

It worked out.

However, two days before his eleventh birthday, Brady found a book in the old town library that would change the course of his life forever.

He’d been poking around the book racks at the back of the large, main room that Friday afternoon, looking for literature on nightmares, when he literally stumbled over a small, moldy-looking volume entitled the Book of the Ancients. His foot caught on a corner of its thick cover which stuck out at the bottom of the very last row of books and he’d accidentally kicked it into the aisle. As he looked at it lying innocently on the floor, the illustration on the cover drew him. He reached down to pick it up. Obviously, the book had been filed in the wrong place. It crossed his mind that perhaps someone had deliberately tried to hide it from sight and somehow, the little book had slipped out of its hiding place.

Frayed leather bindings were stitched to the front and back covers and buckled tightly around it. Excitement coursed through him. Carefully, he examined the sculpted drawing on the book’s thick cover. When he touched the raised lettering, a strange tingling sensation passed through his hand. So great was his surprise, that he nearly dropped it.

It was probably his imagination, of course, but again, there could be a mystery between those pages that needed solving. Eagerly, he went looking for the librarian.

Well… Miss O’Neil murmured as she reverently held the dusty volume.

Brady liked Miss O’Neil. She was very pretty, with long, wavy auburn hair and green eyes, and she spoke in a soft, gentle voice.

I, er… I don’t think I’ve ever seen this particular book before… at least not in this library. I’ll have to check the files, Brady, and make sure it is properly listed before I can let you have it. Also, I must check where it came from. H’m, I wonder… She cast a glance toward him that, for a moment, seemed fearful, but the look disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Just his imagination… again.

Miss O’Neil walked toward a large desk at the front of the room, holding the book as if it were a great treasure.

Brady followed, quite disappointed that he couldn’t take it right away.

Miss O’Neil, he said, when can I have the book?

"When may I have the book, Brady, she corrected. Probably soon, dear, she added vaguely. Come in tomorrow…" Her voice trailed off as she passed by the desk and whisked the book through the doorway that led into her office behind it. The door closed behind her with a snick of finality.

Brady stared at the door and wondered if he would ever see the book again. Miss O’Neil’s behavior had been uncharacteristically strange. He shrugged his shoulders. Needn’t worry over it now, though; he didn’t have a choice, did he? He’d have to wait until tomorrow.

Two

THE SCAR-FACED MAN

Tomorrow came, but very slowly. It was sufficient to say that patience was not one of Brady‘s virtues, and by ten o’clock that morning, what patience he did have, had disappeared. The air had been thick with secrecy yesterday, and he needed to know, no, he must know why. He was not about to give up on it. He finally decided that even if he had to sit in the library for the rest of the day and every day after that, if need be, it would be worth it. So, he jumped on his bicycle and quickly rode the few blocks to the old red brick building.

Brady ensconced himself at one of the tables near the large check-out desk and occupied himself with another book that he’d been reading. By one o’clock, he’d finished it. His stomach growled and complained at missing lunch, and still, Miss O’Neil had not opened her door. And to make matters worse, she had left Mrs. Olson, a crotchety and rather intimidating elderly lady in charge of the desk.

By two o’clock, even his impatience had flown out the window. Although Mrs. Olson frightened him a little, the desire to read the book was stronger, and after considerable thought, he dredged up the courage to approach her.

Unlike Miss O’Neil, Mrs. Olson’s skin was quite wrinkled and fell in folds on her face and neck. She always wore a swishy black dress with lots of lace on the collar and at the hems of her long sleeves. She was rather… severe and stern.

Scary.

Um…

Mrs. Olson looked down at him through her half-cut reading glasses, piercing Brady with her beady black eyes. Yes, Barrett, what is it? she croaked in a froggy sort of voice. Evidently, Brady had just interrupted something of great importance.

Um, Mrs. Olson…

Yes, yes, speak up, boy! Mrs. Olson snapped.

Uh, would-you-ask-Miss-O’Neil-if-could-check-out-that-book-I-found-yesterday…please? Brady’s reply spilled out like a rapid-fire machine gun. Embarrassment reddened his cheeks and neck. He thought about just turning around and going home, but an idea suddenly claimed his imagination.

Because the desk sat on a raised dais, Mrs. Olson could look down on whoever stood in front of it, and it seemed to Brady that she rather liked that position. He supposed it made anyone who stood there feel small and insignificant, just as he felt right now. Suddenly, the woman became an evil Queen who loved smashing those who opposed her tyrannical rule.

The Queen rose over the top of the desk, ready to spill over the side of it; menacing, growing larger and larger, she threatened to dash him to pieces with her heavy, golden scepter, while he withdrew his magical, jewel-encrusted sword from its fine leather case, bravely intercepted her with a great flash of light, and thus disabled her wicked powers.

I suppose so, Barrett. Another croak.

Brady blinked and crashed back to Earth. Th ─ thank you, Mrs. Olson, he replied nervously, very glad she couldn’t read his mind.

She got up from her chair and Brady winced when he heard her joints snap and creak. Her elbows and hands were knotted with arthritis, and she was bent over a bit, too; unlike the image that had presented itself to Brady seconds ago. She was, after all, just an old woman, who probably had good reason to appear stern and crotchety at times. She slowly made her way across the narrow aisle and then entered the head librarian’s office

Within a minute, Mrs. Olson stepped out, followed by Miss O’Neil who clutched the book tightly to her chest. Mrs. Olson resumed her seat at the desk, but not without casting her shiny beetle eyes upon Brady once again.

Unaware of Mrs. Olson’s scrutiny of Brady, Miss O’Neil walked to a nearby table.

Ah, Brady, said Miss O’Neil, I had almost forgotten you would be back. She continued to hold the book firmly as if afraid someone would snatch it from her.

Then, hesitating slightly, she gently laid it on the table; but when Brady extended his hands to take it, she hastily grabbed it up again.

Brady, she said. Her voice was tight and strained, and she bit her bottom lip. You must understand that this book is very old, and you may not even understand what you read in it. A strange light flickered in Miss O’Neil’s otherwise kind eyes. "I must warn you to take extreme care with it.

I will let you have it, because I know you so well. But you must understand that you have taken on a great responsibility with this volume, and I’m not sure I could help you if something were to happen to you ― er ― I mean, to the book! She fluttered a slightly trembling hand to her chest. Brady noticed this because she had such white, slender hands, like pale butterfly wings, but they didn’t usually tremble. Just promise me you will be very careful that you won’t let it get into anyone else’s hands.

Brady stared at the librarian. He certainly hadn’t thought Miss O’Neil had ever paid much attention to him. So why was she so tense and nervous? Why the fuss?

I promise, Brady replied hesitantly.

Miss O’Neil thrust the book into his hands and quickly scribbled his name on the file card. The small book suddenly felt unusually heavy.

I’m not really sure I should even allow you to read… that book… she muttered tightly, …but, it appears the timing is right… just remember, Brady, do not let anyone else have it. And take very good care of it. She kept her head bowed over the card, and did not look at him again. Brady felt a shiver creep along his spine. What was she talking about? What was the right time? And where had he heard that phrase before? Questions rattled in his head like dead leaves blown about by a cold wind, and more shivers slid down his spine.

Would he understand Miss O’Neil’s apprehension once he’d read the book?

After putting the book safely in his backpack (being careful not to touch the raised lettering again), Brady boarded his bike. On the way home, Miss O’Neil’s puzzling words echoed through his mind. A sting of pride nipped at him because she’d felt the need to lecture him on the care of the book. He knew very well how to take care of books, thank you very much! So what had she really been thinking?

He was sure there must be much more to this book than she’d let on. The more Brady thought about it, the more intrigued he became and he could hardly wait to get home to his room and start reading.

He rode quickly along his favorite route, humming a favorite tune. Rounding the corner of a street, he glimpsed a large shadow down the block that flitted behind the tall hedge in front of Mrs. Higgins’s house. It was just the man who came by weekly to mow her lawn.

Brady had barely started past Mrs. Higgins’ house when the large shadow stepped directly into his path. Brady yelled in surprise and tried to turn his bicycle away, not wanting to collide with whoever or whatever it was, but the shadow had suddenly become an extremely large man with wildly tangled, long gray hair that strayed outside the gray hood covering his head. The man grabbed the bike with one hand and Brady’s arm with the other, forcing him to a bone-jarring stop. Brady’s head and shoulders plowed into the man’s stomach and bounced back. The blow hadn’t fazed the man a bit, although Brady felt a bit disoriented for a moment or two.

He stared up into the half-hidden face of the man, and tried to speak, but his voice had deserted him. The man loomed over him, and a whiff of moldy onions wafted into Brady’s nose.

Urgh.

He slit one eye open and looked up at the man again. A vicious gleam surged into the eye that Brady could see and panic consumed him. Desperate to be free of the man’s grasp, he tugged and pulled in vain.

Where’s the book? growled the man, holding Brady’s arm in a vise-like grip.

Brady thought his heart would jump right out of his chest. As the man spoke, he was gripped with a new persistent fear. The only book he had was the book in his backpack, and Miss O’Neil had warned him not to lose it or let anyone else have it.

W-what b-book? Brady squeaked.

You’ve got the book, boy. You’d best give it to me, NOW!

The man’s hood shifted and the rest of his face became clear.

Brady nearly fainted.

The right side of the man’s face was so badly disfigured that hardly anything was left except ragged skin and white bone, and purple-yellow scar tissue. One could barely call it a face His right eye protruded loosely from its socket, almost hanging out of it, leaving Brady to dimly wonder if the eye ever fell all the way out. The eye was mud-brown while the other was blue, and Brady’s mind vaguely registered that the eyes seemed… tormented!

W-who are you? Brady stuttered. He tried again to pull away from the man, but, his muscles had turned into jelly.

It doesn’t matter who I am, just give me the book! The man’s voice became a feral growl through his clenched teeth. GIVE ME THE BOOK! he thundered as he yanked the hood across the grossly tortured face and hauled back a large, hairy fist. Brady tensed, fearing what would happen next.

Suddenly, the man screamed shrilly and unleashed a torrent of obscenities that scorched Brady’s ears. He dropped Brady and the bike so quickly, that Brady lost his balance, and fell in a jumble of arms and legs and bicycle wheels, and crashed into a heap on the sidewalk. Quickly, he righted himself and