Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN
CROSSING OVER
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper

His father had not returned from his visit with Blord’s parents. His mother seemed distressed that Graham was in more trouble. Dinner was eaten in silence, except for Flenn, who had enough conversation in her to make up for the rest of the family’s tight lips.

“We have to make an invention, Mom. We’re studying great inventors, both magical and physical. I’m gonna do a physical invention. I remember what Dad said about messing with spells and stuff,” said Flenn, letting her voice die down momentarily.

Switching topics, Flenn continued on with her monologue, “I think I want to rearrange my room. Will you help me, Mom? I want to put my bed next to the window. We’re studying astronomy next and I want to get a head start. Can we do it tonight?”

Her mother nodded as she slowly chewed her food.

Graham spoke before his sister had a chance to start up her one-sided conversation, “May I be excused? I want to visit Grandfather.”

His mother’s features softened. “Oh, don’t do that. Grandfather asked for no visitors tonight. He’s not feeling well at all. It’s a miracle he’s held on this long.”

Graham nodded. He placed his dishes in the sink and retreated to his bedroom. He pushed his stool next to the window and retrieved a book from his bookcase. He flipped to page 67 and halfheartedly read THE GIANT’S FOOTFALL. It was a fictional tale featuring The Flying Mummy as he faced off against an evil giant determined to steal the beauty of Aphrodite. Graham had already read it twice, but was reading it a third time out of boredom. The next volume in The Flying Mummy series wasn’t due out for another month. Graham was eager to spend his hard-earned allowance on that volume, titled DRAGON TALES FROM TWO CITIES.

Graham found he wasn’t too worried about his father. If he was lucky, his father would arrive home with no one to shout and snarl at. If things worked out right, Graham would be long gone, following his grandfather into a new world where bullies maybe didn’t loom so large.

Around page 116, his mother knocked and entered his room. She announced it was bedtime and extinguished his will o’ wisp lantern. Graham slipped into his bed and kissed his mother sincerely on the forehead. It would be the last time he would see her.

“Good night, Mom.”

“G’night, Dear.” She hastened to the door, stopping to straighten the crooked picture frame that held his Flying Mummy limited edition poster.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

Graham inhaled slowly. He exhaled quickly, rushing his words out at nearly the same speed. “I love you.”

She winked. “I love you too, Graham.”

The moment the door shut, Graham unearthed himself from his covers and reached under his bed. Earlier in the evening, he had packed his backpack full of all the necessities he could think of. He unzipped the pack and double-checked his inventory. Four bags of blumbleberry cookies, a scarf, a will o’ wisp mini-lantern, his favorite Flying Mummy comic book and a pocketknife stared back at him, looking surprisingly inadequate for the earthly mission he was about to undertake.

Graham was about to go through his closet one more time to comb for more essentials to pack when he heard his grandfather’s door creak open. The young gargoyle slung the backpack over his shoulder and scrambled to the window. After what seemed like an eternity, he spied his mother opening the front door. Hunched over in what appeared to be terrible pain, Graham witnessed his grandfather walking for the first time in weeks. The steps he took reminded Graham of a baby’s first uncertain steps, clumsy and untested. Graham’s mom helped her father-in-law down the walkway, kissing and hugging him with finality at the path’s end.

He watched as his grandfather, painstakingly slow, stumbled into the woods leading to the portal. He waited for his mother to retreat to the house and turn off the porch light, before he squeezed out his window and raced after the aged gargoyle.

He caught up to him in less than a minute. Graham was careful to hang back and not use his mini-lantern to light his path for fear his slow-moving grandfather would look back and spot him.

His grandfather never once looked back. He shambled through the woods, pausing once and a while at a tree or rock outcropping to catch his breath.

Finally, after what felt like hours to Graham, they arrived at the portal clearing. It was exactly like Graham remembered from his class field trip when he was a Level Four student. The portal was a large, flat stone that was smooth as glass, except for etched spell symbols decorating its edges. An eight-foot red obelisk rose up next to the portal rock. At its top, a simple pottery jar sat in its rightful perch.

Graham watched as his grandfather crept onto the portal rock. He kneeled facing the red monument, bowing his head in respect. Graham watched all this with his grandfather’s back to him. Burning tears streamed down the young gargoyle’s face. He wondered if his grandfather wept as well. The clearing was quiet for a long time, as even the chirping of the noisy lava beetles was nonexistent.

The silence was broken by his grandfather, who had started singing the spell that would summon the gate. Graham tried to listen carefully, hoping in vain he could use the same spell to get home. About midway through, he gave up. He would not be able to remember all of what spilled forth from his grandfather’s lips. Instead, he closed his eyes, listening to the tender richness of his grandfather’s voice. He thought of the time they had spent together over the past two nights and of all the heartfelt stories his grandfather had shared with him almost nightly. Except for tonight, thought Graham.

Graham opened his eyes as the last of the spell faded into the night air. His grandfather still kneeled on the portal rock. Nothing had happened. Maybe he couldn’t remember the spell. Maybe the old gargoyle’s tongue had become rock hard, preventing him from completing the spell. Graham was about to burst out of his hiding place and call out to his grandfather when he noticed something.

His eyes darted to the red monument holding the plain jar. The jar was slowly rising into the air. It hovered above the obelisk momentarily before it started floating towards the portal rock. Just as it reached the point above his grandfather, the jar began to tilt.

Graham watched as fine grains of rich earth spilled downward. Well, not exactly straight down. The earth flowed around his grandfather, building a gently sloping arch overtop him. Graham was amazed at how much earth was contained in the small jar. He reasoned a cornucopia spell must have been used to enchant the jar to hold so much dirt.

Once the arch had filled in completely, it began to glow a vibrant orange. Graham inched out of his hiding place. If his grandfather turned around, he would spot Graham. The young gargoyle stepped closer to the portal rock. He had no idea how long the gate would stay open and didn’t want to be left behind.

The space inside the arch containing his grandfather filled with rolling bolts of green and yellow energy. The hardening gargoyle labored to raise his arms. Graham dared to take a step onto the portal rock. Suddenly, the whole clearing was engulfed in a blinding light issuing from the arch. This was it. The gate was here. Graham leaped forward as his grandfather disappeared into thin air. Graham felt the energy pushing him from all around. He closed his eyes and made a wish.

From the shadows of a nearby yula tree, the lone figure that had been trailing Graham stepped up onto the portal rock. The gate was still active. The figure cursed the air around him as he stepped into the gate, his left hand clutching desperately to a rolled piece of parchment.

Three visitors had entered the clearing. None were left behind when the arch collapsed in on itself and the dirt rose purposefully into the air, funneling into the pottery jar as it had done for decades after each act of crossing over. The pottery jar returned to its spot in the red obelisk, making a satisfying click as it slid back into place. Slowly, all around the clearing, a droning chorus of lava beetles took up with song.