The Silver Sphere (3 page)

Adrian stood. Zach offered to let him lean against his shoulder,
but Adrian shook his head.

"I'm good. Just a little freaked out."

Zach hoisted the book knapsack over his back. "No problem."

They paced in silence for a time. Zach considered teasing his
friend, but nothing sounded right. Being beat up was terrifying—Zach had suffered
his fair share of bullying.

Cars zoomed by on Harding Boulevard. They lived a good three
miles from the school, but by the time they reached his neighborhood, Adrian started
chatting again.

"I did buy a new fatpack," he said with a smirk. "I
didn't think I'd do enough chores. Forty dollars down the drain!" He laughed.

"Did you open it yet?"

"Oh, of course. And you'll
never
guess what I got!"

"Which series?" Zach asked. He didn't immerse himself
into
Magic
the way Adrian had, but he understood the game well enough. Sometimes
they'd play together. Zach liked his Sliver deck. If he pulled the Sliver Queen
out, almost nothing stopped it.

"New Phyrexia, duh," Adrian said with a snort. He grinned,
then winced and touched his split lip. "Anyways, I got
Karn
! The
Planeswalker
!
Can you believe?"

Zach shook his head. "I never understood Planeswalkers.
They seem to break the game."

"Nah, you have the Eldrazi to balance everything."

They reached Adrian's place, a ranch style, red brick house with
a sprawling front yard. A single cottonwood stood sentinel in the center of the
lawn. The tree was already dropping cotton across the plot.

"We'll have to play a game. You gonna be okay?" Zach
stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah." Adrian shrugged a frail shoulder and took his
bag. "Thanks again, Zach. You're a good friend."

"No problem. Take care, bud."

"Hey, want to come in and play a quick game, like the old
days?"

"Nah. I should have been home by now."

"You sure? Come on! It's not like they would even notice."

Zach glanced at him.

Adrian pushed his glasses back into place, but the arm was still
crooked and they kept sliding down his nose. "Umm, I didn't mean that."

"Cool." Zach sauntered off and waved.

"See y-you tomorrow," Adrian stammered, then jumped
inside his house.

The stroll to his house relaxed Zach. Late afternoon sunlight
beckoned the rich gold of early autumn. Long, purple shadows cascaded across the
sidewalk and street. A picket fence sent lengthy spikes over the tarmac of the road,
spearing the lawns on the other side.

Soon, he left the smaller neighborhoods behind, and sighed. The
homes where he lived stood too uniform, lacking character and warmth. His house
appeared more box-like than all the rest. He hiked up the winding drive to the front
door.

The spare key hid behind his mother's pot of azaleas. He fished
it out and unlocked the door, carefully replacing the key before he went inside.
The moment he entered the house, he wished he'd gone around back.

"No, I don't have
a clue
where your special mug is!
Just use another one!"

"You're the one who always puts everything away! Where'd
you place the dang thing?"

"I didn't put it
anywhere
! I bet you left it upstairs!
Did you even check?"

Zach rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. He began to ease
his way up the flight of elegant wooden steps when his mother shouted, "Zach,
is that you?"

"Oh, smart, Sharon. Get the boy involved!"

"He might know where your stupid mug is!"

Zach retreated down into the kitchen. The tiled floor and marble
countertops made the room feel cold. Even the dark wood of the cabinets didn't help
warm the kitchen. He shivered.

"Hi, I'm here."

His mother stood with hands on hips. "Zach, where were you?"

"Adrian got beat up. I walked him home."

And, as usual, it went in one ear and out the other. "That's
nice. Where's your father's mug?"

"I don't know. Didn't you hear me?"

"Of course."

Zach rubbed his temples and muttered, "You
never
listen."

"Zachy, if you know where my mug is, speak up," said
his father, who patrolled the counter, tearing through the cupboards. "And,
Sharon, be a dear and make me a snack. Some of those marshmallow treats?"

"Oh, and while I'm at it, should I wash your car?"
Her voice rose in pitch.

Zach backed out of the kitchen. By the time they were both screaming,
he had whipped out the back door and dashed to the guesthouse. The French doors
beckoned him, promising to keep him safe from the tension of his family life. He
trooped inside, locked the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could be
a normal kid.

His computer—not the ones his parents used, but
his
, the
one he had scrimped and saved for about three years ago—hummed happily on his desk.
He slipped into the comfortable chair and switched the monitor on. The computer
chimed to life. Once the loading screen had gone, he accessed the chat. Maybe Adrian
would be online. He really wanted to talk to someone.

The sound of clanging swords made him jump. A message popped
up.

YOU ARE NEEDED.

Zach paused. For such a small dialogue box on his computer, the
brief text shouted in capital letters. Why did it appear so different from the usual
exchanges? Had Adrian or another friend discovered some new technique? It couldn't
be from his foster parents. Sometimes they messaged him after calming down, to coax
him back inside for dinner—if they remembered he existed.

No, they were still shouting.

Mouth agape, he stared at the note:
YOU ARE NEEDED.

The box flashed on his screen, awaiting a response. How curious.
A joke from his friends? If it was Adrian, he would play along—or maybe not. He
was tired of games right now. Zach typed in, "
Who is this?
" and
sent it back.

A brief silence intensified the next loud bang. The jangle made
Zach's skin crawl. Never before had an instant messenger ring resounded with such
violence. The noise conveyed something unearthly in the dialogue box.

In a different world and another time,

your alter ego will brilliantly shine.

You and others just like him

are very close to next of kin.

These heroes gone and evil hissing,

the sphere's power is now missing.

The balance is quickly shifting.

Please heed our call for help.

Zach read the rhyme twice, and goose bumps raced over his skin.
His conviction grew surer. Adrian had to be playing around with him. He and his
friends would tease each other on instant message now and again—except the box offered
no identity.

The queasy unease in his stomach worsened. His hands shook a
little as he typed.
"
How can I help?
"

The clang sounded the arrival of another memo.

Step outside and find us waiting.

Promptly now, as we are fading.

He swiveled in his chair. A noise he couldn't identify emanated
from near the French doors—perhaps a bell or a whooshing sound. His blood surged.
The pounding of his heart deafened him.

He turned to stare at the message for a minute before rising
from the chair. The knot in his gut confirmed that it wasn't a game, and it wasn't
any of his friends. Before he even touched the knob, both doors swung open and a
cold, clammy burst of air whipped through the opening. Knocking knees made it hard
to walk and tremors shook his body, but his resolve remained steady.

Zach pushed across the threshold. An unexpected, murky fog lay
in front of him. His house loomed ahead, and he headed for the back door. The bay
windows from the kitchen, only a short distance away, were a yellow haze as the
mist became thicker and darker with each step, cloaking the outlines of his rooftop.

He squinted, trying to find his home. His uneasiness intensified
as he hiked onward—no way it should have vanished completely.

On and on he trudged. Grass became compact and stronger, like
the scrub of a marsh. Bald patches of earth sprang up where walkways and a trimmed
lawn should have been. He continued stepping cautiously, even as he noticed the
changing ground. His tennis shoes squished into its spongy, mire-like surface. Where
had the well-kept turf gone?

Still, no sign of his home.

The mist grew heavier and his clothing became soaked. He longed
for the shouting and anger usually emanating from the house. Even when he stopped
and strained to listen, no sounds could be heard; their shouts too had been swallowed
by the dense blanket of fog.

Only fear kept him from calling for help. Wherever he stood,
this wasn't home any longer. He ventured alone in the murk, thinking he might have
gone the wrong way and ended up near Willows Road, which wound around the back of
his parents' property. Zach turned and began retracing his steps, hoping he could
backtrack to the guest house.

No such luck.

He stopped at last by a bulky object that loomed from the brume
before him, blocking his path. The mist dissipated. A tree trunk was recumbent in
the mud, its girth as wide as he was tall. The tree branches traveled in both directions
as far as he could see, and he pondered turning around. The coarse lumber offered
several good footholds, so he decided to scale up its side and take a peek. He'd
never seen a tree this big before.

Rough bark, sticky with honey-like sap, made the task much trickier
than he'd thought. He climbed the immense growth, but hesitated when a voice echoed
ahead.

Zach froze to listen.

"What do you mean we've lost him, Casselton? The poor lad
doesn't even know where he is."

"Vilaborg, we do not quite have this down to an exact science."

"What science do you have down at all, Cassie? The science
fair you attended at the fifth level? Don't you have an approximate idea where the
portal opened, or are we to freeze to death looking for the Kin?"

"You know how things go, you fool. Stop behaving like this
is your first time. This is not uncommon, Vilaborg. The portal must have opened
somewhere nearby. He will turn up. Blazes that the Cark Woods needed to be used
for a Kin intercept," vented a clearly exasperated Casselton.

Zach stayed rooted to the trunk as he processed the new information.
These two had opened a portal without being in full command of the science? Adrian
would have scoffed! Zach pondered approaching them, but decided to wait. They might
be dangerous.

The voices traveled farther away, and he hoisted himself over
and dropped to the ground below, landing in a squat. A tingling, like pins and needles,
coursed through his body. Zach shivered and looked at his arms and....

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at his clothing.
He ran his hands over the shirt and trousers, as if touching them might make them
real.

His clothes had transformed. His blue vintage MegaMan top had
disappeared. Now the linen doublet he wore made him itchy. Instead of jeans, his
legs were covered with brown leather. Squires used to wear such clothing, he recalled
from his readings, but that had been a long time ago.

Other things had changed. For one, he'd grown taller—now the
trunk of the tree was a head shorter than he. He felt stronger, too. Cold despair
quickly replaced awe.

He collapsed against the fallen timber and pulled his knees to
his chest. A tear crept down his face.

I'm not Zach anymore,
he thought.

"Shelby, are you okay?"

"I'm right here. The door just slammed shut."

Mr. Dempsey bumped into a box as he stumbled toward her. "We're
close to the exit. Let's get some light back, eh?"

His voice reassured Shelby and gently rallied her. "Yes,
please," she said.

Mr. Dempsey guided her forward.

She expected to reach the door soon, but they kept walking. Ten
steps, fifteen steps, then thirty steps later, and still they had not found the
entryway. She pinched herself to check whether this was all a bad dream or not.
The pinch hurt and she didn't wake up.

"That's strange," Mr. Dempsey said. "I can't see
a darn thing, but I know this room like the back of my hand. We should've hit the
door by now."

The temperature dropped further—or did her cold fear make it
seem so? Shelby shivered even more and, in an attempt to stay warm, wrapped her
arms around herself.

"Do you feel cold, Mr. Dempsey?"

"Right through my bones, Shelby. Let's go this way."
He eased her in another direction.

They tiptoed forward one careful step at a time. The darkness
remained complete.

"I can't understand this for the life of me," Mr. Dempsey
whispered. "Walls don't just vanish!"

The ground underneath Shelby's shoes had changed. The pull of
gravity seemed different. No longer did the familiar, even hardwood floors of the
library support them; rough stone and loose gravel now made the walk bumpy. The
smell of the air changed too, as old printer's ink and paper had been replaced with
the scent of rock and water.