The Chronicles of Lux Veritas: Evil at the Gates

By Christopher Dignan

In the eternal struggle between good and evil, the Lord of Darkness, Chaos, and his army of Daemonia are on the rise in the land of Purgator. His minions are terrorizing the citizensthe first step in Chaoss plan to overthrow the Lord Creator and dominate the universe. Only one obstacle stands in his way: Lux Veritas. The Lord of Darkness has already pledged to go to any length to find her, possess her, and best of all, destroy her.

Solas Gambit is a high school hockey player who is haunted by vivid nightmares of trouble stalking the universe. Terrorized by mocking voices, anguished screams, and bloody visions, Solas feels helpless as he struggles to understand why he has been singled out by evil forces. But it is only after a shaman gifts Solas with a magnificent sword that comes alive upon his command that the teen and his two best friends, Dorian Bishop and Amy Jolicoeur are sent through a portal to the treacherous land of Purgator to discover the answers.

In this epic fantasy tale, a teenager must pair with an unlikely partner to destroy Chaos and end his dreams of conquest, restore peace in Purgator, and somehow find his way back home alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475951851

Christopher Dignan

Christopher Dignan lives in Montreal, Canada. He is the author of ‘Evil at the Gates’ and ‘Master of Destiny’ in the high fantasy series ‘The Chronicles of Lux Veritas’. In his spare time, Christopher enjoys reading, writing and traveling.

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Copyright © 2012 by Christopher Dignan

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-5183-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-5184-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-5185-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917908

iUniverse rev. date: 10/16/2012

CONTENTS

Prologue

CHAPTER I

The Lunatic Fringe

CHAPTER II

Strangers in a Strange Land

CHAPTER III

Trippin’ Out

CHAPTER IV

Lalas Pur

CHAPTER V

Exodus

CHAPTER VI

The Forsaken Forest

CHAPTER VII

The River Lethe

CHAPTER VIII

The Mirandia Tree

CHAPTER IX

Rosewhynd Mire

CHAPTER X

The Mirrors of Tartarus

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PROLOGUE

In the beginning, legend tells us, there was nothing … nothing but the Lord Creator. When at last he woke up from the deepest slumber, he said, I am—for he was. This was the truth.

And he was the truth. And he was the light. And he was good.

Following the awakening, a little voice within asked, Am I? This was the doubt.

And the doubt was the lie. And the lie was evil. And evil was chaos.

Thus was born the eternal struggle between the Lord Creator and Chaos, the light and the shadow, the truth and the lie …

LUX VERITAS AND THE EVIL ETERNAL

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CHAPTER I

THE LUNATIC FRINGE

It is the business of little minds to shrink, but they whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles unto death.

—Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519)

1

Solas Gambit jolted awake.

My alarm? he wondered aloud.

He remembered that he had turned it off earlier that morning at the first sound. He hated that dreaded moment when he needed to pry himself out of bed, especially when he had not slept well. Solas had not been getting much rest these last few months. The long winter nights dragged on, and the nightmares had persisted, waking him up often and leaving him flustered and disoriented night after night. It was all beginning to take a toll on him.

What could these blasted nightmares mean? he wondered. I’m sick of them.

He sat up on the side of the bed, hung his head down low, and gently shook it in disbelief.

They just won’t go away. I mean, I need to get in some real zees. I can’t even skate well anymore. I must be the slowest guy on the team. My production’s falling off. Heck, I fall asleep between shifts. And the coach is on my case. Maybe I should go see a shrink, fix the problem. I must be going nuts, he thought.

Solas got up and ran to the bathroom. He soon realized he had no time for a shower.

Crap. You look like hell, he thought. Look at those bags under your eyes.

He splashed some cold water over his face and then rubbed his hands over his baby blues, stretching the pockets beneath them in a futile attempt to make them go away.

It’ll have to do, he thought. Bloodshot too. It won’t be long before the other students start wondering if you aren’t tokin’ up at school, maybe even the profs. Oh well!

Solas sighed. He quickly threw on his favourite Buffalo jeans and a black T-shirt. He made his way into the hallway, grabbed his backpack, rushed to the kitchen, and snatched an apple from the fridge and an energy bar from the cupboard.

Perfect, just what the doctor ordered.

He crunched on his Red Delicious and peeked out the kitchen window. The weatherman was correct this time. Snow was coming down in huge, white, downy flakes. Eight inches, he said. This better be the last of it. It’s almost springtime. Give me some heat already, you hear? Solas said out loud, his gaze directed skyward beyond the great white storm.

He had developed the habit lately of speaking aloud to his invisible maker—not that Solas was a religious boy, not at all, but the visions he had had recently in his all-too-vivid nightmares made him conscious that surely a presence existed, and he felt that it was, well … kind of stalking him. This experience left him perplexed and wondering about his own existence.

Before stepping out, Solas put on his boots and then remembered, Hey, it’s Tuesday. I have a game tonight against the Vermont Green Devils!

Solas hurried to grab his hockey bag, checking to see that his skates and his gear were there.

Yep … good to go!

2

Solas’s thoughts then turned to Grandma Jeanie. He would never leave the house without giving her a kiss first. Jeanie was his entire world. She had been his caretaker, his mentor, and his confidante for the better part of his 15 years. Thirteen years ago, on Christmas Day, a careless driver took the lives of his dear mother, father, grandfather, and older brother in one single swoop. Since then, there was no one else. This was his whole family now, and the two depended on each other.

Grandma, I’ll be going now. I’m late for school, he said as he swung open her bedroom door.

Jeanie was sitting up reading at her usual spot, propped up in a comfortable position against the headboard of her bed.

All right, my love. Have a nice day at school, and don’t forget, you have a game tonight at the Old Civic Arena at six o’clock. Here is 20 dollars. Eat something before you go. No junk! What time will you be home?

Solas grabbed the 20 bucks and said, Thank you, as he leaned over to give her a kiss.

I’ll be back around 10, same as every Tuesday. And listen, Grandma—this is important: remember to take your pills every four hours. I’ll be checking when I get back. I know you don’t like medication. Just do it for me, okay? I love you.

He stared into her eyes and gave her another kiss on the cheek before gently squeezing her in his arms.

I will. Don’t you worry! said Grandma.

And Thursday afternoon, we’re going to your doctor’s appointment, your oncologist, remember? And I heard you wheezing again last night. Not good. Take your puffer before going to sleep. Okay? You read too long; then you fall asleep and you forget.

Fine, Son! By the way, do you still have the last book I gave you to read? she asked.

Yeah, answered Solas. It’s in my backpack. I’ll have you know I’m finding it very interesting.

Oh, your dad would have been really glad to hear you say that. I know he would have wanted you to read his whole collection. These books were his prized possession, you know. Now, get going, said Grandma.

Bye, Grandma.

And call me after school!

3

Solas performed one last check, and he was out the door:

Backpack … yes.

Homework … yes.

Grandma’s book … yes.

Hockey bag … yes.

Cell phone … yes.

iPod …?

Solas depended on his iPod to restore his sanity. It contained his whole private music library. With music, Solas could escape reality—at least for a while. It was soothing and comforting. He had an eclectic taste for classic rock music, like many of his buddies, and he most enjoyed the sounds of Led Zeppelin and AC/DC. Among his favourites were Stairway to Heaven and Hell’s Bells. In any case, he needed his iPod now more than ever. The walk to Central High would have been absolutely impossible without this essential companion. Braving the weather for almost a mile was one thing, but without music—forget it! After a quick search, he found it on the table by the front door where, close by, leaning against the wall, stood his arsenal of hockey sticks. Now that he was wired for sound, Solas chose his favourite weapon, the one with which he was going to snipe the winning goal tonight, his most trustworthy shiny, titanium-alloy stick; it was lightweight, durable, and unbreakable, from the industry’s latest avant-garde collection.

The Green Devils are in for a long night, he convinced himself.

The backpack and the equipment were cumbersome and heavy for such a long walk. But Solas was getting used to it. He did it at least once a week, or at least each time a snowstorm whitened the neighbourhood and the buses became unreliable. And in this region, the snow had a habit of piling up in a hurry. As he began his solitary walk, the fresh snow crunched beneath his feet with every step and the crisp winter air filled his lungs and chilled his senses. Solas felt immersed in a sea of white and in a background of loud music. No one would disturb him here, at least. However, his worries were too strong and his thoughts concerned his grandmother. Were the wicked nightmares he was having a premonition about her? Grandma Jeanie had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. The disease had spread all over her body and had now reached her lungs. The prescriptions simply delayed the inevitable and provided only temporary pain relief. The question was: For how much longer? The Lord only knew. One thing was for sure, Grandma wanted to end her days at home with her dignity intact. Every day, a nurse would come by to help with her daily chores. Solas could not do it all, and he was kept busy with school and hockey too.

The show must go on, Grandma Jeanie would always say.

Solas’s first objective was to create a semblance of a normal life, a reassurance to his beloved grandma that he would be all right and that, indeed, life would continue for him just fine. He was, after all, almost a man now. He would not let her down. That was not how she brought him up. At the very least, he would do his best to make her happy.

And perhaps—if only—she could go on living a little longer.

Don’t go, Grandma. I love you, he gurgled softly under his breath, as tears filled his eyes.

Solas trudged along, heartsick and bedeviled. Flashes of the nightmares recurred in his thoughts. He would torture himself playing them over and over again in his mind, in slow motion, frame by frame, like blurry scenes from some cheap horror flick. It was the same old assault each and every night, only more frequent. What were these undecipherable mocking voices he heard, these haunting screams of battle and anguish, that bloodchillingly evil sensation? What about that swirl of light up above Grandma’s bed, those concentric circles? Was it a vacuum? A wormhole? What exactly? What was it doing there?

Solas felt helpless. If he could only defend himself, chase them away, and slay his demons for good.

4

At last, Solas arrived at school. He entered half-frozen through the front hall doors, exhausted from the trek, ice and snow clinging to his apparel. Classes had begun. He headed straight for the office to get his late slip—a required procedure if you wished to be allowed in class. Mrs. Halliwell, the senior secretary at Central High, saw Solas burst through the office’s front door.

Solas Gambit, please, please, please! Can you stay outside the office and shake all that snow off your coat and boots before coming in? Can you read the sign?

Geez, Mrs. Halliwell. My hands are frozen, and I’m late enough as it is.

Stay out there. I’ll bring you your slip, she replied.

Solas snatched the note from the secretary and dragged his belongings all the way to his locker, managing to stuff them all in the cramped space. He was half an hour late, and math was first on the agenda.

Damn, math now, with Mr. Malik, the teacher from Hell. He will ride my ass for sure; I know it.

Solas made his way to room 256, took a deep breath, mustered up a little courage, and offered a tepid knock on the door, so as not to disturb—Mr. Malik hated it—and attempted to slide unobtrusively into the waiting class, slip in hand.

You could have heard a pin drop were it not for the raging explanations and desperate enthusiasm of the math teacher before his befuddled audience.

The door squealed slightly, just enough to distract. Mr. Malik, an old-school fellow wearing a red-and-green-chequered Scottish cardigan and sporting a pencil-thin moustache, noticed Solas entering.

There you are, he said as he turned to face him. Did the snow slow you down?

Exactly, Solas responded, seizing the opportunity that had just presented itself. Have you seen it, sir? It’s bad out there. Here’s my slip …

Yes, it is indeed, Mr. Gambit. Do you not watch the weather forecast on the evening news, Mr. Gambit?

The class, feeling the moment, chuckled in expectation of an imminent roasting.

Yeah … s-sometimes, Solas stuttered.

"Sometimes, said Mr. Gambit. Tell me; are you new to our fair region, Mr. Gambit?"

I was born here, sir, Solas answered with pride.

Right. Therefore, you should have been able to calculate the possibilities and then anticipate the difficulties that a forthcoming snowstorm would present, which would most certainly slow you down. No?

Mr. Malik spoke like a true man of reason. He was paid well for that.

If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, you can always baffle them with bullshit, Solas thought.

Well? the angry teacher insisted.

Mr. Malik stood stern and frowning, hands behind his back. Solas, thinking of a response, began to imagine his teacher in a different light. He had suddenly started to take the form of one of the shady characters he saw in his nightmares. Behind the stiff frown hid an impostor, a charlatan, with a deceptive gaze and a twisted spirit. His eyes started to slant and took on a greenish tint. Solas glanced at the mouth, which betrayed swollen gums and putrid, decaying teeth.

Well, Mr. Gambit! The cat got your tongue? This is not the first time, you know. In fact, it’s becoming a habit with you. Next time, don’t bother coming to class, will you?

All Solas heard Mr. Malik utter was a series of muffled words, followed by a few mocking expletives. Incredulous and stunned by this event, Solas turned away, scampered toward his desk, and after lunging for it, buried his head in his arms.

This is not happening, he told himself. Just don’t look.

That’s it. Shame on you, Mr. Gambit! Let it be a warning to you. Don’t let it happen again. Now, follow the example of your classmates for once!

But Solas had heard a distorted version of Mr. Malik’s speech. That’s it. You’re finished, Gambit. There will be no warning next time, and it will never happen again. Now follow the example of your pathetic classmates and worship me at last!

Solas covered his ears as best he could. The stirring voices stopped, and the lesson continued as normal—whatever normal was—for the remainder of the class.

Solas worried. These bloody visions are following me even in the daytime now. I’m losing my mind. What do they want from me? Who can I trust now?

5

The bell rang, and not a minute too soon. Fat Freddie, Central High’s friendly drug supplier, spotted Solas leaving class.

You look like shit, Solas. What? Are you ripped?

I don’t smoke drugs. You know that, Freddie.

C’mon! Are you kidding me? Look at those eyes, Dude! Damn, you were acting awful strange in there and dozing off the whole class too. Don’t forget your buddies, man. That’s all I’m saying. Just remember, Freddie added, pointing his index finger at Solas’s chest, a friend in weed is a friend indeed.

Right, Freddie. Nice motto. I’ll make sure to call ya. Count on it.

Solas turned aside, headed down the corridor, and thought, This whole school has turned into a nightmare.

At the same moment, his good buddy Dorian Bishop, freed from English literature, intercepted him.

Hey, Buddy. What’s goin’ on? And where have you been, man? You don’t answer your calls now. I tried you three times last night.

Dorian knew his friend quite well. He had noticed he wasn’t the same lately, depressed to be sure. And who wouldn’t be under the circumstances at home? But Dorian suspected something else was troubling his good friend, and he was trying hard to get him to confide in him.

Oh, I don’t know. This crappy phone works only when it bloody well wants to, replied Solas in a dejected voice.

Hey, cheer up, Dude. What’s up? How’s your grandma doing anyway?

So-so, replied Solas.

Not improving, huh? asked Dorian.

No, not really, he answered.

Hang in there, Bro. I know it’s tough, but you know I’ll always be there for you. And my mom and dad sure love it when you come over. You’re welcome anytime you like, said Dorian.

The friends shared a smile and hugged.

Thanks, Dorian. You’re the best.

The hallways were bustling with crowds of students and tender moments of brotherly affection tended to stop traffic and gather notice. Before the boys knew it, they had picked up some surly comments.

"Hey, we’d have never guessed you guys were this close."

The girls broke out in laughter.

That’s real funny, Sandy, said Dorian. "Actually, you’ve no idea how close we are."

Oh, I can just imagine, Dorian.

The girls continued giggling.

Dorian looked back at Solas, tapped twice on his buddy’s shoulder as if to say, Watch how it’s done, and stepped slowly toward Sandy until he stood only inches from her baby-doll face.

Well, you know what, Sandy? Being the jealous girl that you are, if you’re lucky, someday, I’ll let you have some of this.

Dorian pointed up and down the sides of his body.

You dig? he whispered in her ear.

Sandy checked him out, broke out into a huge smile, and after a slight delay, replied, Dream on, Dorian.

Solas grabbed his friend by the arm and turned him around.

Come on. She’s just playing you. Let’s get to class already. I don’t need the socials teacher on my case too.

As the boys began to walk away, Dorian gestured back to Sandy.

Call me, Babe. You know you love me.

Right, Dorian, she said and blew him a kiss.

You see how I did that? Dorian explained, That’s the problem with you, Solas; you’re not smooth. Loosen up a bit. You’re always wound up tight. You will never score with Amy if you don’t lighten up.

"Spare me, Dorian. First, Amy is all class. Second, I’m not looking to score," Solas argued.

Dorian shook his head.

You’re hopeless.

Solas loved Dorian. They had been close friends since kindergarten—their whole lives really. His advice meant a lot to him. Dorian was just a natural flirt and had a habit of getting himself in trouble even though he had a heart of gold. He had no siblings either, which made the bond between the boys rock solid. Solas could always depend on him; this much was true. They had followed the same path, lived in the same neighbourhood, and shared many experiences and escapades. Hockey was another passion they had in common. They had played on the same team since childhood and weathered common growing pains, nasty knocks, and bumps and bruises. Together, they had fought countless battles, enjoyed many triumphs, and tasted the agony of defeat. But their spirits never wavered.

Dorian, I need to talk to you. Something pressing, said Solas.

Well, what is it? Are you okay?

Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s just … Solas hesitated. I’ve been having these nightmares.

It’s simple then. You’re not getting enough sleep; you’re thinking too much about your grandma. Take a sleeping pill; it’ll help you. It works for me.

Solas sighed. It’s really not that simple, Dorian.

As Solas finished his sentence, they rounded the corner into social studies class.

What do you mean not that simple? Dorian repeated.

You know what? Better I tell you at lunchtime.

Hey, by the way, don’t forget we have a game tonight at six. Are you pumped for the Green Devils? First place on the line! We need you on your game, Buddy.

Mr. Wells was preparing his notes on fiefdom in the Middle Ages when he overheard Dorian’s bursting enthusiasm.

Mr. Bishop! he exclaimed, I wish your enthusiasm for hockey would translate into excitement for social studies. You will have time to get your homework done tonight?

"Yes, sir. Because tonight, I will have the pleasure of killing two birds with one stone, as they say. You see, tonight, the Green Devils will be his-to-ry," Dorian replied and pumped his fist high in the air.

That’s real clever, Mr. Bishop. Do make sure you catch up on your work. You still have not handed in your report on medieval weaponry.

Don’t worry, sir, answered Dorian, in a comforting tone. Come Monday morning, you’ll be stunned by the thoroughness and quality of my work.

I’m holding you to it, Mr. Bishop. I can’t wait. Mr. Wells chuckled.

The class began. Amy Jolicoeur sat in her usual place, third desk by the window. Solas loved her natural smile, which she hid behind her flowing blonde locks. She was the studious type but had a unique, unassuming, yet refreshing sense of style. She possessed a certain je ne sais quoi that captivated Solas. In all the years he had known her, he had never heard Amy swear, not even once. She had never lost her cool or been inconsiderate or impolite to anyone. She was a truly magnanimous spirit, always composed, calm, and collected. This was a rare quality at Central High. Perhaps this was what attracted Solas. He was curious about her more than anything. She was rather mysterious, and their eyes always locked for longer than conventionality would permit. It was a ritual. They seldom exchanged words, but they didn’t need to. It was a game they both enjoyed; why break the spell? Yes, indeed, Solas loved social studies.

6

The bell rang for lunch. The cafeteria filled up with the usual crowd, mostly juniors and sophomores. Solas grabbed a cheese sandwich and a Gatorade from the dispenser—it beat fighting the throngs of hyenas waiting in line—and found a quiet place to rest by the heaters beneath the arched windows outside the library. Dorian, in the meantime, purged a detention he had received in English class for the inappropriate use of words not found in the English dictionary. Solas munched on his nondescript sandwich and guzzled down his ice-cold tonic. He laid his backpack down, rested his head against it, pulled out his iPod, and listened to his soothing classics. Just as Metallica’s Enter Sandman began, Solas drifted into Neverland …

Dreams of war, Dreams of lies

Dreams of dragons’ fire …

Sleep with one eye open

Grippin’ your pillow tight …

Wake up, Solas! said the voice.

"Wake up, Solas Gambit!" yelled the librarian as she shook him by the arm.

What is it? answered a panicked Solas as he yanked the earphones off his head.

It’s third period now; you can’t stay here, she warned him.

"Third period? What do you mean?"

Get going! insisted Ms. Huxley.

Solas got up, confused. What a dream! And how could 75 minutes have gone by in the span of one song? Enter Sandman was still playing.

Solas thought this was plain weird. Had he really been asleep that long? He got up, picked up his gear, and noticed his Gatorade was still ice cold. How could this be? He had set it on the heater board.

Solas shrugged it off and headed to class. Before fourth period language arts in room 454, he benefited from a well-deserved study period: Free time. Several students, along with Dorian and Solas, met there to review, compare notes, or finish assignments together.

Solas arrived and noticed Dorian was already there, waiting by himself.

Hey, where have you been? I phoned you at lunch, twice. I got off early from detention, said Dorian.

I didn’t hear a thing. Sorry, I fell asleep. I think.

Without wasting a moment, Dorian hurried to the main topic.

So, explain to me what’s happening in your nightmares. This ought to be good.

Man, you can’t imagine, replied Solas, shaking his head in disbelief.

Try me.

Well, the thing is … I have nightmares all the time, even in the daytime. It’s like I’m losing my mind, Solas explained.

How long has this been going on?

Probably about six months … roughly since Grandma was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Well, that would make sense then, said Dorian, offering the obvious answer. You shouldn’t be surprised.

There’s more to it, though, protested Solas. It’s the same kind of nightmares every time. You know … the same movie.

What do you mean?

Well, I mean, first of all, there is a light swirling above Grandma’s bed, about three or four feet in diameter. It’s like a vacuum, a portal of some sort, a swirl of concentric circles. I really don’t know.

Solas paused, anticipating a reaction from Dorian.

You know, insisted Solas, noticing Dorian’s blank expression, a portal like you would see in a Star Trek episode or some other fiction movie. It’s really strange … It looks like the Milky Way galaxy in miniature. It’s the best I can describe it. It’s always there.

Dorian listened closely to his friend’s admission. This was not like Solas at all. It surprised Dorian and rendered him speechless. Solas’s account was rather astounding. But Solas didn’t make up stories; he was always a straight shooter.

Does your grandma know about this? asked Dorian.

No way! Solas shouted.

He thought about it for a moment.

I mean, she might. But I haven’t dared tell her about it. I don’t want to upset her, frail as she is. But perhaps she knows already and doesn’t want me to be concerned.

Dorian listened.

And that’s not all, continued Solas. I hear voices … deranged, unhappy souls crying and fighting—agony, despair, the whole shebang. And it all comes from that portal thingy.

Finally, Dorian offered some kind of response. Wow! You got some bad dreams there, Bro. Your imagination’s working overtime. You just have to stop listening to that Satan music. He chuckled.

Seriously, Dorian, I’m in trouble here. I have visions too. In math this morning, Mr. Malik practically turned into some sort of green demon.

"All right, then. Tell me, what do you think it is?" Dorian asked, doing his best Sigmund Freud impersonation.

Damned if I know. The thing is it happens in my grandma’s room. And she is not even aware; she does not wake up. It’s straight above her bed too. I can even see it through the walls from my own bedroom. How weird is that? I’m thinking she might die soon. This has to be a sign. But I don’t understand it; I’ve never heard or seen anything like it. Is it a soul portal? Why do I see it?

Dorian was speechless once again.

I’m really bushed, and I feel like my head is going to blow. What should I do, Dorian?

Dorian knew his friend needed help. He got to thinking that he should spend more time with his buddy Solas. First, he felt a genuine concern for his well-being. Second, he was damned curious to see for himself what this was all about. It had to be better than any cheap Friday-night horror flick.

Why don’t I … sleep over at your place, to see what happens? proposed Dorian.

Are you nuts? I don’t want you to get mixed up in this, said Solas.

Dorian forced the issue. It’s settled then. How about I come and sleep over tonight after the hockey game? We’ll head to school in the morning together. I’ll bring extra blankets and tell my mom about it.

Don’t go telling your mom about this, Dorian, objected Solas. This is real personal. She’ll think I’ve gone cuckoo.

"No, no, no … not that! Only that I’m staying over. That’s all. She won’t mind. I’ll tell her you’re feeling down. You know my mom; she’ll understand," replied Dorian, reassuring his friend.

Fine, replied Solas, but tighten your seatbelt, man. If it shows up again, you’re in for a ride. You won’t sleep again. Can’t say I didn’t warn you! But I could sure use some company, and someone else’s opinion.

It’s a deal. I’m looking forward to it! Dorian yelled as he slapped his buddy Solas on the back. I’ll chase away your bogeyman! he added and laughed.

Laugh, Dorian, laugh, because you sure won’t be laughing tonight. Damn straight.

After this remark, Dorian could not help himself and redoubled his laughter.

As luck had it, Amy Jolicoeur was also in the same language arts course, better known as French 319. As her last name hinted, her family was of French origin. Her mom still spoke to her in the language of Molière, which made Amy a natural in the subject. Dorian often solicited her help.

Amy walked into the room with a half hour to spare, her friend Natasha by her side. The four students exchanged greetings, and the girls settled down quietly by the window where fresh oxygen and good sunlight were plentiful. It did not take long before Dorian engaged Amy.

So … Amy! Could you spare a moment for poor Dorian?

That depends, answered Amy.

"You see, I have le problème with le question numéro trois."

Amy and Natasha giggled. Dorian was indeed rather pathetic in French, but he had a charm about him that made it easy for him to get his way … in any language.

While Dorian walked over, Solas pulled Grandma’s book, The Divine Comedy, out of his backpack. He leaned back on the chair, kicked his feet up on the desk, and began to leaf through the masterpiece. Solas had grown increasingly interested in this story and in all things medieval, in fact, and he was eager to get to the end. The story told of Dante’s journey through the three realms of the dead: Heaven, Purgatory, and Hell. Considering the events of the last few months, this book seemed well apropos to our beleaguered Solas. Grandma really is kind of cool, isn’t she? Solas realized she had great intuition. And he began wondering if she really could see that wheel in the sky, just like he had.

7

Dorian was busy being his usual self, flirting with Amy and Natasha—mostly Natasha. An exhausted Solas, caught up in the mental imagery of the narrative, slowly started to doze off again, words and paragraphs gradually becoming blurs until he crossed over into dreamland, yet again.

Neverland was, on this occasion, a refreshing experience, a sweet escape. Before Solas stood a postcard landscape of stunning beauty—flowering fields emanating subtle scents of lilac and lavender, magnificent trees of oaks and elms, maples, willows, and poplars, and lush verdure fading into the distance. Clear running streams carved the land. A warm mistral breeze caressed the skin. And on the horizon soared mountains of unequalled majesty. Paradise!

Solas’s spirit was filled with peace and comfort—until all hell broke loose. Disfigured beasts and armed creatures inhabited the land, and they were pissed. Before long and without warning, Solas was under assault by an army of grotesque warriors, appearing from thin air and from every nook and cranny of the land. Winged gryphons and batlike gargoyles took to the sky.

Solas began to turn away and run from trouble as fast as he could. Suddenly, he felt the battering of wings behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw two gryphons, one of which clutched Grandma Jeanie, inert.

"Grandma!" screamed Solas.

He