Alvalor

William Stone rushed into the dim cave, breathing hard. He gently put a hand up to the right side of his face, and felt it throb painfully beneath his fingers. That’s gonna be quite a bruise, he thought miserably, crashing onto his favorite bean bag chair, his black, untidy hair flying around as the chair poofed air then sagged under his weight. Along with his hair, a handful of little pieces of Styrofoam flew around his head like mosquitoes. The duct tape he had stuck over the hole was peeling off just enough to let its stuffing out in puffs.

Letting out his breath slowly, Will tried to relax. School earlier that day had not been a picnic.

♦ ♦ ♦

The day hadn’t begun any better than its current state. Will had forgotten his assignment for English, and in Science he was forced to sit through the most boring movie on volcanoes in the world. After wandering over to Gym with glazed eyes, he was rudely awakened by a surprise mile run. By the last period, he couldn’t think straight and wanted nothing more than to lay his head down on the desk and go to sleep.

“Hey!” Will felt someone jab his arm with a sharp finger. He didn’t have to raise his head from its spot on the cool desk to know it was Pickles, his best friend. “Did you get the answers for number ten and eleven?”

Will jerked his head up to look at his blonde friend, who sat in the desk next to him. “On what?” He rubbed his eyes with cold fingers.

Pickles gave him a pitying look. “You know, on the test review?—the climates of Utah?”

Will groaned. “Test review? Aw crap…” He pulled out his binder and leafed through the pile of papers inside. He pulled out an assignment and looked through it. They only pencil markings on the page were his hastily scrawled name and period at the top.

“Dude,” Pickles shook his head, “you’re gonna be murdered by the test today.”

“There’s a test today?” Will winced.

“Duh,” Pickles rolled his eyes. “that’s why it’s called a test review. Dude, you got problems, man. Didn’t you sleep any last night?”

Will shook his head despondently. A tree had banged against the siding on his house in the wind all night. He spent most of the night reading instead.

“Oookay, everybody,” Will’s history teacher, Mr. Born, walked to the front of the class. He had a receding hairline, thick glasses, and a rather large nose. Mr. Born was a nice enough guy, but his voice was so monotonous, it often put people straight to sleep. He also had a horrible habit of saying ‘oookay?’ after every sentence. Will found it very distracting. He liked to keep a tally in the corner of his notes of how many times he heard it in one day.

Mr. Born pushed his glasses up on his nose with a finger and clapped his hands. “Hand in your re-views and pull out a pencil, oookay? It’s test time!” The class groaned. After passing out the tests, Mr. Born scanned the room. “Any questions?”

Pickles raised his hand. “Yeah, what’s the answer to number one?” Everyone laughed.

Mr. Born raised an eyebrow. “Very funny, Mr. Dille. Oookay, you may begin.”

Ten minutes later, Will handed in his test and sat down. He hadn’t recognized a single question, and finally decided it wouldn’t do him any good to stare at the paper for the next thirty minutes of class. In-stead, he pulled out a thick, hardback book, leaned back in his chair, and flipped it open to where he last left off.

“Hey, Will,” Pickles leaned over after handing in his test too. “What did you put for number nine-teen?”

“Your mom,” Will mumbled. He flicked his worn bookmark against the desk absentmindedly.

Pickles rolled his eyes. He leaned to the other side and repeated his question to Brittani, who sat next to him.
She played with a string of black hair, thinking hard. “Was that the one about the amount of rainfall in the desert?”

Will looked up from his book, watching Pickles and Brittani talk easily about the test, then home-work, then finally their families. Pickles said some-thing with a crooked smile, and Brittani laughed.

With a strange feeling in his stomach, Will wished he could talk as smoothly as his best friend. Pickles always seemed to know the right things to say. Will just ended up embarrassing himself. He was pretty sure he held the record for the most awkward silences in a conversation.

Without warning, Brittani looked at Will. Noticing he had been staring, Will flushed and turned back to his book. “Like Will for instance,” Brittani smiled, “I think only children are the luckiest people in the world. Isn’t it nicer to have a quiet house, Will? With no little kids running around and putting tape on the cat?”

“Well,” Will tried to think of something clever to say, “it can get a little too quiet at times.” He played nervously with his book, flicking the pages back and forth.

“That’s what I’m for, eh bud?” Pickles grinned, elbowing him in the arm.

“Yeah, guess so.” Will stared at his desk to try to think of some way to continue the conversation, but his mind was blank. Finally, he turned back to his book, and Pickles and Brittani continued to talk without him.

It hadn’t always been so hard to talk to Brit-tani—Will made himself stop thinking. That area was just too confusing.

♦ ♦ ♦

Rolaf smirked up at his masterpiece, rubbing his chalky hands on his dusty, beer-stained jeans. It was perfect. The cement wall was angled in the exact position needed to give the little brats riding the roller coaster next to it a nice view.

Jimmy Russell shuffled around the corner and looked up with admiration. Saying he was a large man, in Rolaf’s opinion, would be an understatement. He took up the same space as three men standing next to each other. He had a round head as large as a good sized pumpkin, both of which filled with quite similar contents.

“Are you finished, then?” Jimmy’s double chin almost disappeared as he stretched his neck up in an effort to see the carving on the wall.

Rolaf ignored him. He was tired, and besides, the guy wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, he picked up his tools and walked towards the bathroom to wash up. He couldn’t afford the boss seeing him with evidence all over his hands.

If Jimmy was bothered by Rolaf’s indifference, he didn’t show it. He just picked up the metal ladder Rolaf left behind and followed. “Did you do every-thing Marcus said?” he panted, struggling to drag his massive legs to match Rolaf’s fast pace.

Rolaf turned, annoyed. He wasn’t a bad looking man. In fact, most women would say he looked rather debonair, even with the dark shadow of whiskers that usually trailed across his face. But the look he gave Jimmy now, a look that was not an unfamiliar sight when Rolaf was around, would quickly change anyone’s mind.
“Marcus isn’t the only one who makes decisions around here,” he scowled, “I do what I want.”

Sweat dripped off Jimmy’s rotund face. “But it was Marcus’ idea—“

Rolaf stopped. He turned to face the gasping Jimmy. “Marcus isn’t here, is he? If he wants some-thing done a certain way, he should do it!” He stepped up in Jimmy’s face, looking in disgust at his shining forehead. “If I’m going to write stuff on a cement wall, I’m going to do it the way I want, no matter what anyone says, got it?”

Jimmy’s eyes went wide. “Ummm, Roll, I think—um—“

Rolaf just shook his head and sneered. He turned back towards the bathroom.

“Rolaf,” a man wearing a tool belt, a white shirt, and cargo pants was standing there, arms folded. “Excuse my interruption, but would you follow me to the roller coaster? There’s something there I would like to talk to you about.”

Gritting his teeth, Rolaf turned to follow his boss back the way he came

♦ ♦ ♦


Once the last bell rang for the day, Will walked dejectedly through the crowd of students towards the school doors. History was such a pointless class. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to memorize all those dates and names of dead people.

Will sighed as he stared through the large win-dows at the front of the school. They were finishing up with yet another virtually snow-less winter. The air was icy, and colorful leaves littered the yard, contrasting the gray, sullen sky. The ground always seemed to be damp these days, causing his feet to slip and skid across the sodden grass. Unfortunately for Will, this often had very embarrassing out-comes.

As he reached the pale yellow doors, Will heard a stifled snicker close behind him. He paused, then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, waiting for the inevitable. Sure enough, a thick text book came crashing down on his head.

Will shook his head to rid his vision of the stars, and then swung around to meet his attacker. Oh great, he thought sarcastically, this is perfect. Standing before him was his old nemesis Logan Gilmore, and his idiot pals Jeff Garey and Ryan Jenkins.

Will set his jaw, trying to ignore them. He walked away from the three teenagers and pushed through the doors. Gilmore caught up to Will out-side, and Garey and Jenkins followed.

“’Sup, Stoney? Your ol’ man gotten stoney lately?” Gilmore’s handsome face twisted into a mocking smile. Garey and Jenkins chuckled. “You better come to the game tonight, Stoney, we’ll be waitin’ for ya!” Gilmore grinned and punched Will in the arm. He left, beckoning for the other two to follow him.

“Idiots!” Will mumbled, rubbing his arm. His hands back in his pockets, Will slowly made his way across the school grounds towards his house a couple streets away. When he was almost to the sidewalk, he kicked angrily at a bunch of leaves in the grass. There was a flash of light. Curious, Will stopped and leaned down to look.

A rock poked out of the wet leaves, reflecting the late afternoon sun. He picked it up for a closer look and fingered its flat, slightly rounded polished sides. The stone was a sort of blue-ish black, and fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. It was nothing amazing really, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from it. He began walking again, slowly, as he inspected it, running his thumb along its many shiny faces.

Will heard someone racing up behind him, and swung around, ready for a fight. He stopped, then relaxed, letting his arms fall back down to his sides. Will grinned at Pickles in greeting. As annoying as the guy could be sometimes, he was fun to have around. In Kindergarten, when Pickles was still just Michael Dille, they had been the only two kids in the class who knew how to read. They had been best friends ever since.

“Hey, I gotta ask you…what’s that?” Pickles looked down at the stone in Will’s hand.

“Oh,” Will looked down at it hesitantly, “it’s just a rock I found.” He was sticking it in his pocket when Pickles reached out and grabbed it from his hand. Will felt a rush of annoyance. He watched nervously as Pickles glanced at it, then started with anger as the other boy dropped it carelessly to the ground. Will stooped to retrieve the stone and put it in his pocket. He finally lost his temper when Pickles continued,

“So, anyway, you know how Brittani Kinghorn was talking to me in History? Do you think she likes me?”

Will rolled his eyes, a knot tightening in his stomach. “She doesn’t like you any more than all the other girls at school.”

“What are you talking about?” Pickles asked with his regular bluntness, “You saw how she looked at me—and I made her laugh.”

“No, actually, I didn’t. You’re just being your regular self, thinking every girl who even looks at you likes you!” Will said sharply in reply.

Pickles’ eyes narrowed, his pimpled forehead turning red. “At least I don’t need someone else’s mom to pay for everything.”

“Like that has anything to do with it.” Will shot back, his temper rising even further. He rubbed the stone in his pocket with his thumb.

“Let’s see,” Pickles ignored Will, ticking things off with his fingers as he went on, “Lunches, groceries, Halloween costumes, karate….” Pickles bit his lip. Will’s eyes widened in surprise, then nar-rowed again. It seemed like the whole yard had gone silent.

“Karate, huh?” Will said quietly, “That’s funny, you’ve never mentioned that one before. You mean your mom has been paying for my karate ever since 2nd grade? For SEVEN YEARS?” he finally yelled. Kids in backpacks all around turned to stare.

A few low-riding skaters walked towards them, tossing their hair out of their eyes with a twitch of their heads.

“Cat fight!” one of them yelled. Chuckles arose from the teenagers who had wandered over, wondering what the excitement was about.

Their presence made Will even angrier. He knew they were just hoping for entertainment. Well, he wasn’t about to give it to them. Turning on his heel, Will left Pickles with his eyes wide, and ran home.

“Charity!” He mumbled under his breath as his holey sneakers hit the sidewalk. “What do I look like, an orphan?”

When Mrs. Dille had noticed Will’s ever-returning bruises when they were little, she, assuming they were all from the kids at school, offered to take him to karate with Pickles. Never had he imagined that she had kept the truth away from him for all these years. He never even considered the fact that it might cost something. The idea now flushed him with embarrassment. He jogged up his drive-way, and, fuming, threw open the door of his tiny house.

His dad had bought it cheap because it had no air conditioning, no heater, and no electricity. The swamp cooler leaked water into a stained brown puddle in the carpet below, and the air inside smelled like smoke from a pack of cigarettes a day.

The cheap wallpaper was tainted yellow by some mysterious substance, the floor was strewn with cigarette butts, and the crumbs and packages from many months of pizza and other take-out din-ners created a second layer. Will hated how the car-pet always crunched disgustingly beneath his feet.

The single level house had one bedroom which his dad used. Will wasn’t allowed inside. So Will was left to sleep in the living room on the smelly, beer-stained old love seat. Will had spent countless nights tossing and turning on that fluff-shedding sofa, and never seemed to get a good-night’s sleep.

As he stomped into the living room, Will froze in surprise. Sitting on the sofa, his greasy head in his hands, was Rolaf Stone: Will’s father. Will and his dad, putting it mildly, did not get along—so Will was very wary whenever Rolaf was home. To-day, though, it wouldn’t do any good. Rolaf had had a rotten day. Will could see it on his drawn, whiskered face.

Will’s dad was not in the mood to be interrupted by an irritating teenage boy. He looked up at Will, and shot out a line of swear words, glaring as if everything was his fault. He heaved himself off the couch and staggered over to where Will was backed up to the wall, unsure of what to do. Finally, with wide eyes and a pounding heart, Will raised his arms partway in a sudden half-effort to protect him-self.

Without warning, Rolaf’s fist swung around and smashed into the side of Will’s head again, again, and again. Will was grateful when the light dimmed and he fell into blissful unconsciousness.

♦ ♦ ♦

When Will came to, he groaned. It felt as if his head had just split open. After tenderly reaching a hand up to reassure himself that his skull was still intact, he struggled to get up. Then he wished he hadn’t. A shot of pain sliced through his head, causing him to clutch at it, sit suddenly, moan again, and put his head between his knees. The dizzying pain made him gasp as he finally stood up, leaning heavily on the living room wall. The empty room in front of him looked strangely like a picture taken by a person who quickly moved the camera at the last second.

As the throbbing finally ebbed to, maybe not a whisper, but something bearable, Will remembered what had happened. Furious with himself and find-ing his dad gone, Will stumbled out the door and slowly walked, and, when he could stand it, ran, to his hideout in the woods near his house.

Although his house was cheap, it was placed close to the mountain, where the larger, nicer houses stood looking down on the valley. Between his backyard and the foot of the mountain, there was a small group of trees that Will and Pickles had dubbed “the woods.” They had spent hours exploring their woods, imagining themselves away into better worlds.

He had discovered the cave behind some rasp-berry bushes years earlier when he, tearstained and bruised, had rushed into the plum-scented woods to get away from home. Throughout the years he and Pickles steadily filled it with a small collection of thrown away chairs, a scratched up coffee table, a battery powered lamp, and an old waist-high, musty-smelling bookcase to keep his friends on pa-per safe.

♦ ♦ ♦

Now, on the dirty bean bag chair, Will flipped on his lamp and reached over to the bookcase for one of his latest library books, The Septribes. As he recalled the miserable things that had happened that day, and days before that, he wanted more than ever to escape into a story – to let his mind be captured by the poetic flow of one of his favorite authors, Jessica Norton. As he read, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the stone resting in his palm, his heart steadied to a calmer pace. Finally, for the first time that day, he could relax.

Hours later, as his eyes began to close, his mind was still in Alvalor with the seven villages; Anifon, Borzerk, Hypti, Levitus, Herbos, Oiseye, and Byklaw.

The stone tingled pleasurably in his hand.

Somehow, maybe because his imagination was so practiced, so carefully tuned from years and years of constant reading; or perhaps the stone had played a part in it—nevertheless, his breath slowed and became deeper and steadier as he fell asleep behind the bushes of a small family in the village Byklaw.

♦ ♦ ♦

Napodi was bored. She threw rocks into the river, watching them splash and sink to the bottom of the clear water.

Millie and Max were playing tag on a small green hill nearby, hobbling around on their crutches in the spring sunlight. She glanced at them and felt the weight in her face lift slightly. Just looking at her adorable brother and sister seemed to make the day brighter.

As she turned to toss an exceptionally large, lumpy stone into the chuckling river, she heard Millie scream. Oh no, not again. She ran around the hill toward her little brother and sister. Eduardo Oiseye held their crutches high in the air, and Millie and Max clutched each other on the ground in front of him.

Napodi stood in front of the twins and glared at Eduardo. “Give them here.” She said through clenched teeth.

Eduardo just laughed. “And what will you do if I do not?”

♦ ♦ ♦

Behind the bushes near the river, Will woke up. He looked around in confusion from his spot on the grass. Pulling himself up to see around the bushes, he spotted a girl with brown hair and a slight build standing in front of two little kids who were obviously twins.

In front of the girl stood a sneering boy with long red hair. He wore a leather headband with what looked like the shape of an eye sewn into the front. He held two roughly made wooden crutches as if they were the first place trophy to an Olympic event.

It would probably be wrestling, Will thought, eyeing the boy’s heavily muscled arms and thick stature.

They all were wearing very strange clothes: baggy shirts and pants made of a coarse material in different shades of brown. They each had a thick brown belt around their waists, brown bare feet, and wore cloaks with hoods around their necks.

The girl straightened her silver cloak now, and glared at the boy who sported a gold one. She seemed to be at loss of what to say. Her shoulders slumped with a defeated air. The boy’s strange golden eyes glinted with pride. He had won.

As Will looked at the twins, who had the same dark, wavy brown hair as their sister, he noticed they each had a crippled leg—the boy’s left and the girl’s right. They were now standing, holding each other up with an arm around the other’s shoulder. The little kids looked on, not with complete fear, but with a sense of dejection similar to their sister’s. This had obviously happened before.

Will’s temper began to rise as he understood what he was seeing. He absolutely hated bullies. Remembering the hours of quiet tears he had spent through nights not many years ago and recognizing the feeling of over-whelming helplessness that came with defeat, Will stood up from behind the bushes.

♦ ♦ ♦

Napodi heard a sharp intake of breath come from Millie and Max and turned to see what they and Eduardo were staring at. There, standing behind some bushes next to the river, was a boy.

He had messy black hair that came down his ears halfway, and striking deep blue eyes. He wasn’t very tall, but had a stocky figure, square shoulders. All in all, he was extremely good looking, except for the right half of his face, which was a dark, ugly purple bruise. Plus, he wore exceptionally odd clothes. His pants were a loose blue material Napodi had never seen before, and he wore a red, short sleeved tunic with the words Peri-winkle Jr. High Seagulls! printed across the front. The boy glared at Eduardo, who glowered right back.

“And who are you?” The Oiseye raised an eyebrow.

“My name is none of your business,” the stranger re-plied in a slow but steady voice. “but if you don’t give those kids back their crutches, I will make it my business.”

♦ ♦ ♦

As Will stepped out from behind the bushes, the girl looked oddly at his shoes. He ignored her and looked meaningfully at the boy with red hair. The boy scowled and threw the crutches down near his own feet.

“Why do you not make me?” He sneered, raising his fists.
Will rolled his eyes. The bully could have at least come up with a more creative comeback. He stuck his stone in his pocket, then casually formed the ready stance. He waited for the boy to make his move.

The boy suddenly threw his fist at Will’s face. Will cleanly dodged it, hitting the boy’s arm sideways with his left arm. He threw a kick with his right heel. The breath was forced out of the red-haired boy’s lungs. He doubled over, holding his stomach.

Seizing his chance, Will grabbed the little wooden crutches and handed them back to the girl with brown hair.

She met his eyes with wonder and gratefulness glow-ing in her face, and with a start, he realized her eyes were a soft brown speckled with green. He averted his gaze, not quite knowing why he was embarrassed, and glanced back at the bully. He had scrambled up and started to run away, still bent over, favoring his lower abdomen. As he looked back and glared, Will had a strange feeling he would see the red headed boy again.

♦ ♦ ♦

Napodi was in awe. The handsome boy in strange clothes had just beaten Eduardo Oiseye, the bully from the nearest village who had never given up picking on her and her siblings for years. It was quite a wonder in itself, Napodi thought, since Oiseye was a bit of a ways away. She figured he must get horribly bored.
When she turned to hand the crutches back to their owners, she found they had already hobbled over to the boy, leaning on each other for support. Excitement and admiration shone in their eyes.

“What is your name?”

“Where did you come from?”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Can you teach me?”

“How come you wear such strange clothes?” They both bounced up and down eagerly. Anger turned into amusement as the boy started to smile, and then winced as it pulled his bruise.

“What happened to your face?” Millie and Max said bluntly at the same time.

Finally, the boy had a chance to speak. “Um, my name’s Will….” A look of dawning came over his face. He slowly looked around him, taking in everything as if he’d never seen it before. Napodi glanced around with him, wondering what he was looking at. She inspected their small cabin with a few trees in the front yard, the many more cabins down the dirt road, the bakery, the weaver’s hut, the shepherds’ sheep pen, the river and their little hill on one side of the road, and the woods on the other.

None of this looked out of the ordinary to Napodi, so she looked questionably back at the boy, Will. She started with alarm as she noticed he had become suddenly pale.

“Do you need to sit down or something? You do not look very well,” she said in a concerned voice.

“Yeah…” he said, still looking around with a con-fused look on his face. “I don’t feel too hot. Something really weird is going on…” he then looked at her strangely.

“What’s your name?” he asked hesitantly.

“Oh, of course,” she flustered, “I am Napodi Byk-law.” She gestured to the twins. “And this is Millita and Maxicor. We call them Millie and Max. They are my little brother and sister.”

“And this is Thunder. He is my crutchie!” added Max.

Not wanting to be left out, Millie held out her crutch. “My crutchie is prettier! Her name is Rosie!”

“Ok,” Amusement flashed again in his eyes as Will turned back to Napodi, “One more question: Where the heck am I?”