The House of Grey- Volume 1 (19 page)

Conviction.

Taris handed the chalk back to Mr. Gatt and slowly walked back to her seat. The room remained incredibly quiet.

“Well done, Miss Green,” said Mr. Gatt, looking from her answer to the girl. “I could not have said it better myself.”

She nodded her head towards him as if to accept the compliment. Mr. Gatt continued.

“These are the ideas that we will be studying this year; the differences between fact and truth and the respective effect of belief on both. Why do we recognize some things as fact yet other things as truth? Are they the same? Are they different? What does belief have to do with fact or truth? How do the three affect each other? This class will look at facts, beliefs, and truths in the hopes of coming to a better understanding of each. Any questions?”

No one raised a hand. Monson understood why. Mr. Gatt’s voice had suddenly become quite appealing like his words were going through special ears on your body. When one listened with these ears, what was said could not be ignored; one could only listen and understand.

“If there are no questions, then we will move on to this.” Mr. Gatt pointed towards the picture behind him. “Who can tell me who this is?”

Several hands shot in the air, including Taris'. Mr. Gatt looked surprised but then laughed.

“OK, let me rephrase the question. Who can tell me who this is without referring to a certain
popular children’s book we all know and love?”

Everyone, including Taris, put their hand down. Monson raised an eyebrow at this. She crinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at him. He laughed.

Monson raised his hand. The portrait suddenly reminded him of something he saw while in the hospital. Mr. Gatt called on him, looking pleased.

“Yes, Mr. Grey, do you have an answer for us?”

Monson hesitated then said softly, “The Sword in the Stone.”

This statement was met with a shocked silence. Mr. Gatt, however, seemed to understand. He gestured towards him as if to say, go on.

Monson hesitated again, understanding how odd this probably sounded.

“There was a movie made many years ago about a boy who had to pull a sword out of a stone to become the new King of England. The boy had a wizard helping him. His job was to guide the boy in becoming one of the greatest rulers of all time. The wizard’s name was Merlin."

Comprehension was starting to dawn on the listeners, which caused whispers to erupt all over the classroom, drowning out the last of Monson’s words.

“Well done, Mr. Grey, well done.”

Students continued to whisper among themselves. Mr. Gatt held up a hand for silence and again spoke to Monson.

“You must have watched a lot of T.V. when you were
resting.
”

People were staring at him, literally turning in their seats so they could look at him. He dropped his eyes.

“You could say that.” Monson hoped that Mr. Gatt would drop it.

The teacher seemed to sense Monson’s hesitancy as he moved closer to the poster and pointed to the man in the picture.

“What if I told all of you that this is Merlin?”

People burst out laughing at this. The sense of foreboding as Mr. Gatt queried Monson vanished with this question. Even Monson laughed, knowing quite well that Merlin was a fictional character perpetuated by King Arthur legends.

“I am quite serious.” Mr. Gatt’s words cut them off. Even their thoughts seem to skid to a halt. The silence started to build again. In a quiet voice Mr. Gatt continued.

“Who was Merlin?” He was looking towards the painting, slightly glassy-eyed. “Was there a man who created a legend or a legend that created a man? You must ask these questions. What are the facts, what is the truth, and how does our belief affect our perception? There are facts, there is truth, there is belief. We just need to find what all of them are.”

The statement hung in the air. Suddenly the bell rang, startling the students. It felt as if they just sat down, but sure enough, class was over.  People roused themselves, gathering personal belongings and making their way out the door. Taris stood up and gathered her things very slowly, as if she was waiting for something. This changed, however, when Derek Dayton started in their direction and her pace sped up considerably.

Taris lifted her bag and faced Monson, who had yet to move. The full weight of her gaze fell upon him as she tossed her hair and then turned, looking over her shoulder.

“Later, pretty boy.”

Monson just stared after her, as mystified by her behavior as ever. Derek gave him a really nasty look,
and then
gave chase. Finally, Monson grabbed his stuff and walked towards the front of the room. As he neared the door, Mr. Gatt spoke.

“So what did you think, Mr. Grey?” His voice was pleasant but curious, as if he really wanted to know Monson’s opinion.

“Interesting,” replied Monson. “I’m curious where you are going with all this.”

Mr. Gatt smiled. “As you should be. Be prepared, Grey, this is gonna be one hell of a ride.” Monson’s jaw dropped at the expression.

With that, he left, leaving Monson staring after him, and beginning to understand why so many people had signed up for this class. Mr. Gatt was like no one he had ever met.

Chapter 12 – Bokken

“Yo, Hero!” said Casey, greeting Monson the second he walked into the gym. Casey looked at him curiously. “Dude, what the flying flip took ya so long? Coach Able has already called roll.”

“I couldn’t find the dumb place! Who puts a huge brand-spanking-new stadium in the middle of the freaking forest? Seriously?” demanded Monson.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Casey, with a knowing look on his face. “But you have to admit that though the location sucks, a dedicated stadium is pretty sick.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” admitted Monson. “If this is the Training Ground, I can’t imagine what the Battlefield looks like.”

The “Training Ground” was more akin to a multi-sport complex than a typical high school gym, and Monson could have sworn that most of the school was here. Students were scattered all over the place engaged in various activities. Some played volleyball or basketball. Several others were dressed in karate gi or fencing attire. It was quite the sight.

“The
Battleground
, Monson! It’s called the Battleground and it’s where Coren plays its football games. Everything else is The Training Ground. You’re standing in one of the most advanced indoor stadiums in the world. More than five billion dollars, dude, I kid you not.” 

It didn’t surprise Monson; the place felt like it was chiseled from pure gold. Monson looked around and notice a lot of people staring at him.  

“Come on bro-has. We’d better get you a locker and inform one of the coaches that you're here.”

As they started off, Monson looked around. “How was your fifth period?”

Casey glanced in either direction. “I didn’t go.”

Monson turned to him. “Why not?”

Casey put his finger to his mouth, which plainly indicated he didn’t want to talk about it right now.

Monson cocked the eyebrow. OK, Magnum, P.I., I’ll play along.

They walked in silence as they made their way across the gym, through a large pair of doors marked “Men.”

“Where’s Artorius?” asked Monson.

“Over yonder somewhere talking to some chickadees,” said Casey. “We need to find that boy a woman. I think he may lose it soon.”

“Whatever that means,” Monson chuckled. Then, remembering Kylie, Monson asked, “Speaking of women, Casey, when are you going to tell me what happened between you and Kylie?”

“We’d better hurry before we get busted.” Casey sounded stressed as he quickened his pace.

“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Monson, rushing after him. The fact had not been lost on him that Casey was doing his best to blow him off, which made him even more curious.

Monson attempted to catch up with Casey, whose smile was more like a grimace, as if he was in pain.   They arrived at the double steel doors at the same time that a group of boys dressed in dark blue gym shorts and plain white t-shirts came stumbling out, pushing one another around.

The last boy saw Casey walking towards them and apparently without thinking, held the door open while standing to one side. Casey acknowledged this gesture with a simple nod of the head.  He passed the boy, entering the locker room without a backwards glance. A few steps behind Casey, Monson, too, was about to slide through the door.

He had just made it over the threshold when a sharp pain erupted in his head, neck, and upper back. A blow from the door hit him with enough force to make him stagger and drop to one knee. The ringing in his aching head echoed as he turned around to see what had happened: The boy stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame and laughing with his friends.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” said the boy as his friend patted him on the back. “If you aren’t, bad things might happen. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“You’re right.” Monson glared at him, his voice very quiet. “We wouldn’t want bad things to happen, as we might be held responsible for those bad things. And that would be even worse.”

The boy looked shocked at Monson's words and his tone. Suddenly angry, he knelt down to Monson’s level. He spoke equally softly.

“You’d better be careful, peasant. Your kind isn’t wanted here. You should know your place and be aware of whom you are talking to before you get mouthy. Or didn’t I hit you hard enough?”

Anger pulsed through Monson as he attempted to shake the pain from his head. His suspicions were confirmed; the strike from the door was on purpose. This should have thrown him into a state of confusion. Questions should have been erupting from within him as these unexplainable events unfolded.

This did not happen.

Far from clouding his thoughts, the boy’s words helped Monson to channel his anger. His mind became clear and his focus sharp. Bloody images flashed past his eyes as his disgust and outrage infused him. He glared murderously. Even more frightening than his fear, confusion or anger was the new feeling starting to emerge. It felt foreign and…dangerous. Monson tried to control it but it filled him up, bringing him to the brink of rage. Slowly, painfully, something like a dam inside broke and the sensation consumed him.  Monson rose to his feet, tears of anger and repulsion flowing freely, as much from his internal struggle as his external injures. He fought to keep the anger at bay. 

The boys watched him. Monson witnessed arrogance give way to confusion, apprehension, then fear. Monson glared with the newfound fire within him. He walked towards the boys filled with propose, yet without knowing what he was going to do nor caring about the consequences.

“MONSON!” A hand pulled at his shoulder and Monson spun around to look Casey straight in the eye. “Snap out of it!”

Monson awoke; at least that’s what it felt like. His energy slipped away from him, as if he had just run a marathon. He did not say anything but turned quickly back towards the boys in time to see the locker room doors slam shut.  They were nowhere to be found. Monson slowly faced Casey, who just stood there gazing at him.         

“What’d you do?”  Casey looked at Monson apprehensively.

“Nothing,” replied Monson defensively. “I asked them if they wanted to dance but they said I wasn’t good enough. Made me kind of angry.” 

“Grey!” Casey’s voiced sounded strained. “Now is not the time for joking. Why were you shaking? And why did those guys look like they were going to piss their pants?”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate,” said Monson dismissively. “I must have offended them somehow, so they thought they would give me some special treatment. I just wasn’t in the mood.”

Casey eyed Monson suspiciously; he was clearly skeptical of Monson’s account.

Monson stopped and took a step closer to Casey. “Why are you getting on
my
case? I mean, I get whacked in the back of the head with a metal door and you’re acting like I just killed someone.”

“Whacked in the head? What do you mean whacked in the head?”

Monson didn’t answer.

“Sorry, dude.” He sounded like he meant it. “Didn’t mean to accuse you. It’s just not very often that a group of five guys take off running right after they haze a younger student.” He looked at Monson thoughtfully. “I don’t know what happened, but something made them tuck tail and run.”

“They probably saw a teacher or something,” Monson shrugged.
“Come on, we need to get out there before Artorius takes all the ladies.”

“You mean before Artorius gets smacked.”

They both laughed and returned to normal conversation, though Monson was preoccupied.

He had almost lost control to something so, powerful and
dangerous
. Very dangerous—Monson thought back to the feeling and shook his head. That feeling, whatever it was, did not feel like
him
, but nonetheless was a part of him; it was something familiar, but at the same time foreign. Regardless of what it was, he hoped he didn’t experience it again.