Chapter 6: The End of the Beginning

2.5 Billion Years Ago

Lighting the red sky with glorious streaks of fire, speeding through the methane-dominated atmosphere, a Stone smashed into the Earth. Leaving barely a charred crater in the hard granite surface of the early Earth, the Stone sat and cooled, intact and unmoving.

It was only about four inches across and smooth to the touch. Almost white in color, it stood out brilliantly against the predominately red granite rocks.

Near to the spot where the Stone had landed was a fairly large settlement. They had noticed the object streaking across the sky and many set out to locate it.

Revering the forces of nature, those first finding the Stone knew that that it must be handed over to the Elders and they could determine the importance of this event. They would know the fate of the Stone.

The Elders were immediately fascinated and several realized that it could be of great value in furthering their powers. But, rumors began to spread among the general population about the mysterious Stone. Debate began among the populace and it seemed that everyone had an opinion, some were of value and some were not worth considering. Many suggestions even generated what today we would call chuckles among the creatures gathered.

Some claimed it as a religious object, sent from distant gods. Voices arose. “Create a monument to house The Stone”, said one. “Worship the Stone. Pray to The Stone”, said another. Some stood outside the great hall of the Elders and chanted in chorus, “The Stone is immortal. The Stone is immortal”.

Others feared the Stone. The fiery crash that brought it to their city, sent fear even through creatures as these who had a deep knowledge of the mysteries of nature. “Send it into the oceans to be lost forever”, plead some. Others wanted to send The Stone into a fiery grave in a distant volcano. Others suggested, “Find the remotest, deepest corner of the planet and lose the Stone there”.

Still others determined to use natural powers to shape the Stone to their needs. “Etch the Stone with the story of its discovery”, some debated. Others said, “Give the stone to the historians to long be remembered”.

None was silent. Every one had an opinion. Every one had a solution. And everyone thought their solution best. From the humble worker to the rulers of the city, all debated and argued over the Stone.

Soon though debate gave way to violent action. They shoved. They pushed. They argued among themselves. And soon, this escalated into open fighting and rioting. Things were well out of control.

First several died, then hundreds. Violence gave way to revenge and all over the question of what to do with The Stone. An civilization was collapsing as opinions as to the fate of the Stone grew louder and more destructive.

Finally the Elders decided. Remove the Stone from society. It was not enough to send it to the bottom of a sea or the top of a mountain because here, the Stone could be found by one adventurous enough and trouble would begin anew.

The Elders met and talked while outside riots were growing. Finally a plan emerged for the Stone and the very nature of time was at its core. But there was a problem.

# # #

Time.

Among their many talents to control nature was the fact that They possessed the means to control the arrow of time itself, moving backwards and forwards as the required. But never in great giant leaps of time, for their culture and beliefs forbid that.

In their distant past, incantations were discovered that when said precisely and with just the right inflection one could travel to a selected period in history for a brief amount of time and then return.

The difficulty of the incantation was high and almost all who tried failed. Miss an inflection, slightly mispronounce a word or stress the wrong syllable and nothing would happen.

It was fortunate that the time incantation was so difficult, because They knew it had a serious drawback. It was observed that when one traveled through time, events would change and always for the worse, sometimes a small local calamity and sometimes a continent shaking event. But always, something happened.

Some travelers making time trips returned as if ripped apart by savage animals. This was often chalked up to the traveler’s inexperience or bad choice of destination. Sometimes travelers returned to finds death and destruction present where all was fine before their journey. On at least one instance, a traveler had returned to find entire settlements in ruin.

Sometimes news of a tragedy would only arrive days after. They knew that time travel was dangerous but they were also drawn to the endless possibility of time.

Over time, a great priesthood arose, the keepers and protectors of the words that permitted travel through time. As the Priesthood of the Incantation, they were responsible for the preservation and protection of time travel.

A massive Temple of the Incantation was built keeping the priests were separated from society, isolated to preserve the time chant and to protect society from its ills. Strong walls of black stone soared skyward, sturdy and apparently seamless giving no hint of weakness.

Spires of jagged, razor sharp stone periodically grew from the walls. Here Priests of the Incantation would stand above the city, remote and superior to those below. Great halls were constructed for the priests and dormitories were built to house novices accepted for study and inclusion into the priest hood.

Outside the imposing Temple grew an entire industry supporting those who came to plead for admittance into the studies of priesthood. Poorly constructed shelters, poor food and severe conditions greeted those hopeful of inclusion but still They remained and waited.

Those accepted through the massive gates would be endlessly trained to precisely use the proper tones and words of the time incantation but they would always stop short of completing the phrasing. Only the highest member of the order knew the final phrases, for the priesthood restricted time travel only to only when it was actually required. For any other that than the highest priests to complete the incantation meant instant death, dismemberment at the hands of the priest’s executioners.

Over the years, The Priesthood of the Incantation grew distant from the general public and eventually became of little interest to those outside. No longer did crowds live in harsh conditions outside of the Temple pleading for admittance. Vendors moved on to more lucrative businesses away from the Temple walls.

In side the Temple, things had also grown old. A slow, imperceptible fade into non-existence was underway. Priesthood novices no longer filled dormitories with study and preaching, learning the secrets and traditions. Now there were but three priests left who knew the secret of the time incantation.

It was into this fading Priesthood of the Incantation, isolated from the rioting outside, that the Elders delivered The Stone. To the Elders, this was a temporary solution, using the Temple of the Incantation as a refuge until they could restore order but the priests did not know this. The three remaining priests thought The Stone was theirs permanently.

The Elders handed The Stone over to the priests and with few instructions, they then hurried off to quell the increasing rioting.

By now, in many places, the rioting had become full warfare. Gangs roamed the towns beating those who did not believe about The Stone as they did. “Worship The Store”, screamed some. “Sacrilege, fight them”, yelled those opposing. “Destroy The Stone”, some yelled. “They don’t believe, burn them”, implored others and the fighting raged on.

The priesthood though stood apart from issues of the world, secure behind the massive Temple of the Incantation. Besides they could not be bothered with matters as rioting and fighting for they now possessed the marvelous Stone. What would they do with it?

With hardness beyond anything they understood, seemingly indestructible, the Stone presented a unique opportunity. Quickly a plan arose. Knowing that their old ways were dieing, it was decided that they would use The Stone to preserve their knowledge. After all there were only three left who knew and worshipped the Incantation.

“We can call on nature to rise to our call and carve into the Stone the holy incantation, preserving it for a time when worship shall again rise”, said one priest. “Call on the wind to bend to our will and create an eternal object”.

Immediately, the Priesthood started shaping the forces of nature to carve the Time Incantation into the hard surface of The Stone. In the tallest of their towers, they built a platform on which to set and secure The Stone. Open to the elements on all sides, vast great arches created a hexagon around the Stone. The priests could invoke the elements from all corners of the Earth to do their will.

Chanting and singing in patterns ancient beyond their years, they commanded the winds to blow fine grains of sand onto The Stone in precise patterns. Over and over again, the sands smashed into The Stone. Relentlessly the winds blew as nature obeyed the commands of the priests. Over and over the three priests danced around the Stone chanting.

The Stone though resisted their attempts to etch the Time Incantation on its sides. Having passed through solar furnaces and supernovas, The Stone was harder than anything on Earth.

“Blow harder winds”, the priest commanded and the winds reached speeds never before attained on the planet. The very spire of the tower strained against the forces of nature now blowing through, around and over it. The hexagon of arches exploded from their foundations as all nature raged around the spire.

Day and night the priests chanted and prayed, exposed to the elements of nature they were summoning and their plan was working. The relentless grinding of sand upon the surface of The Stone was now ever so slightly etching the Time Incantation into its surface.

Living day and night in the spire amid the cold, wind and sand, and working ever harder to bend nature to their will, the elderly priests drained their own lives to complete their task.

“The winds must blow harder”, one observed, “and the sand must be moved more quickly”. The three elderly priests stood together and impelled the forces of nature to move against The Stone with more ferocity.

More than once during the period of the etching, did one collapse only to be dragged away for rest while the others urged on the forces of nature. Weakened and often ill, the priests did their duty, returning to the tower to complete their task, their legacy of The Stone. One died and then another leaving just a lone solitary figure to complete the task.

Exhausted, the remaining priest ordered the forces of wind and sand to quit their action and return to their natural state. High in the spire, the last Priest of the Incantation lifted The Stone from its platform where it had been exposed to the elements bent to the will of the priests. “I can do no more”, the last priest sighed as he looked at the faint etchings on The Stone. “It is as complete as it shall ever be”.

Rolling The Stone over, the last Priest of the Incantation read the etchings. “It is good”, he said to himself and it was. The wind, sand and will of the priests had etched the Time Incantation into its surface, all except for the final details, period and duration.

“Good, good”, the exhausted priest murmured. “Most is preserved for eternity but I can command the winds no more. It must remain incomplete”.

Slumping against the outer wall of the battered tower, a servant’s voice he heard. “Master, the Elders have returned for the Stone”.

Turning and looking outward at flames engulfing everything out to the horizon, the last priest said solemnly, “And I don’t think they shall have it”.

# # #

The Elders were desperate. Retuning to retrieve the stone from the priests, they would now execute their last option.

Escorted by Temple servants into the Great Hall, they entered a room where once scores of priests gathered to worship the Time Incantation and practice forbidden mysteries. Now empty, the Great Hall echoed as they crossed to a spot in the center where they were asked to wait.

Settling in, waiting for the priests to deliver The Stone into their keeping they discussed the apparent hopelessness of the world outside the temple.

They had come to the emptiness of the Temple’s Great Hall from a world destroying itself over the meaning of The Stone: A gift from God or an omen of evil? Or was it simply a stone of no special meaning to be discarded and ignored?

These questions were turning neighborhood against neighborhood, neighbor against neighbor. They fought, burned, suffered and died over the meaning of The Stone. Cities had disappeared in the carnage as once violent gangs joined into deadly armies trying to claim The Stone and forge it to their own desires. It seemed as if the Earth itself was in flame.

Even the common incantations to create sustenance were failing and famine was spreaded. It was as if nature itself was changing and the rituals of the past functioned no more.

The Elders knew that they must halt the violence and, they realized that there was no means to halt the violence as long as the question of The Stone remained. So, their plan was simple, remove the Stone, end the violence. With order restored other issues could easily be handled.

A small door opened at the far end of the Great Hall and the last Priest of the Incantation entered, stooped over and aged. He approached The Elders gathered in the center of the room.

“Where are the others”, questioned an Elder?

“Dead. I am the last”, replied the priest.

Apparently unsurprised, the Elder continued, “Then listen, we must lose the Stone. Travel through time, to a distant spot and leave it far from where any can ever find it”.

Rising to his full height, the last priest raged. “No”, he screamed in a voice echoing through the emptiness of the Great Hall. “This Stone is, mine, er… ours, preserving the priesthood even when all are gone. You and your kind have no claim on it”.

The last priest knew that the etching on The Stone was incomplete as he turned away from the Elders and continued more calmly, “This stone holds the key to time. It preserves the Incantation and as the last priest, only I can use it and I will not.”

Rising to try to present a more imposing figure, the Elder calmly paced the center of the Great Hall. “You must lose The Stone in time. Think now of the suffering outside the Temple”, plead an Elder.

Then a thumping, a dull distant thumping was heard in the distance. Entering the hall, a servant of the Temple bowed and quietly said to the priest, “They are at the gates and attempting to gain entrance”.

The Elders glancing first at the servant and then quickly back to the lone priest rose almost as a single chorus, “For the good of all, take The Stone through time. The mob will claim entry soon”.

Now the last priest was in a panic, the pounding on the Temple entrance, the voices of the Elders, the nervous Temple servants all served to confuse him. Silently he said over and over, “Destroy the Stone and end any chance of preserving the Priesthood of the Incantation but I will save the city. But preserving the Incantation is my duty”.

Turning as he neared the far wall, the last priest continued, “Stay here and the mob will destroy the Temple, also destroying the priesthood. What to do? What must I do?”

The doors to the Great Hall were now barred with furniture pilled high across the entrances held in place by the strength of servants against the mob outside. “Sir, they are almost through. It is to be our end”. The mob voices could now be heard in the corridors winding through the Temple. Soon they would locate the Elders and priest in their refuge within the Great Hall.

“Through time is our only chance”, said an Elder, hoping that a calmer voice would let the last priest see that their way is the only way, “Our only chance”.

“It is over”, the priest thought for he realized that preserving their way of life was more important that saving the legacy of the Temple or even saving the time incantation itself. “The time of the Temple is over when I die”, he softly murmured. He knew what he must do, travel time.

Slumping to the floor, exhausted and fighting just to have strength to talk, the last priest said, “I will do your bidding. I will take the Stone through time”.

Relief spread through the Elders. They would prevail. They had won.

The last priest was ordered to go immediately through time, two and a half billion years in the future. “Time enough”, said an Elder and “A good place to lose the Stone”.

“Put the burden of its final resolution on those of the future”.

It would not be their problem anymore and perhaps it the fighting now raging just outside the doors of the Great Hall would cease.

Explosions were heard nearby, explosions in the Temple. Time was short. Just as the great black wall of the Temple fortifications had given way to the mob, so the walls of the Great Hall were beginning to buckle. Rioters were now just outside the doors.

“Do it now”, the Elders urged, “Now go”.

Picking up The Stone the last Priest of the Incantation prepared for travel through time. “ I must go to a place where it can do no more harm” he thought. He rehearsed the incantation in his mind, every word, every inflection and tone must be right. There may be no other chance.

Lifting The Stone the priest looked at the incantation lightly etched into its surface and felt a sense of pride that his work would last for all time. But something was different, an energy rising from The Stone that he had not felt before.

“Now”, screamed an Elder as the doors of the Great Hall buckled even more under the weight of the mob. Cracks were forming and the barricades strained at the weight of those trying to gain entrance.

The priest staggered as a power emanated from the Stone. The etching had made it more than just a stone. It was a powerful object tied into his every sense. The Stone drew power from the etching, the etching drew power from the Stone and each joined the will of the priest holding it.

“The difference”, the priest whispered, “I know the difference”. He sensed that no longer did he have to recite the words of the incantation to travel through time. Just by holding the Stone, it was in control. The Stone would assure the success of the incantation.

Now he knew that with the Stone anyone could control time. No longer was time travel the realm of the Priests of the Incantation, it was available to all. The old ways of the priesthood had died, here and in his hand.

He knew what he must do. To preserve the Priesthood, he must lose the Stone in time. He knew that there was great danger if it remained. “By losing the Stone, I will be the sole priest and I can preserve the old ways. I will teach others and they will worship me”, he thought. “I alone have knowledge and I alone will rule”, he cried with growing arrogance.

But then the last priest remembered, “the Stone is incomplete. The last line is unfinished”. Here was another reason that there would always be the need for a Priest of the Incantation. The Stone knew no period or duration.

Now very calm, he knew that no matter what outcome, he had preserved of the Priesthood of the Incantation. But curiosity was beginning to overwhelm him. “Would it work?” the last priest thought.

He glanced out a window of the Great Hall at the red, methane sky of his Earth. He glanced at the city in flame. He knew what he must do and how to do it. But first, as a test, “Does it work?” he silently thought. For this one time only he would let the power of the etchings on the Stone, lead him through time.

Rolling the Stone over and over, the Priest glanced around the room. A power swept through his body waiting for his command. He felt as if he was floating but still planted firmly on the floor of the Great Hall.

The priest was now ready to give the final orders, period and duration. He could almost hear the Stone ordering him to complete the incantation. In a language now dead for two and a half billion years he chanted TWO AND A HALF BILLION YEARS AHEAD, FIVE MINUTES.

And the stone knew what to do for at the last syllable, the last Priest of the Incantation and the Stone were gone.

# # #

8 Thousand Years Ago

It was not just the shock of the new surroundings that caused the last priest to immediately drop the Stone, it was the object piercing his body. Long and thin, the object caused a great pain, penetrating the outer layers and embedding deep in an internal organ.

Gasping for breathe in the alien atmosphere, he cried out, “Help me”, to a strange creature standing nearby. But the creature did nothing.

“I was wrong, so wrong”, the priest thought with his last breaths, “I must get the Stone and take it back with me”. It was lying near his dying body. He attempted to reach for it but could not.

Now the strange creature was nearing the stone, and the last priest bellowed, “Stay back or I shall command all nature to oppose you”.

And the alien creature stopped, watched the last priest and then sat on a long cylindrical object.

With more confidence the priest yelled, “Do not ever approach the Stone again”. His strength was failing and he could not say more.

Weakening more, the last priest made a final attempt to grasp the Stone. Failing, he laid back and realized that that for all his abilities, his magic, his command of nature, he could not save his own life.

“How blue this sky is”, he thought with his dying breath.

And he vanished from the strange, blue skied world.

# # #

2.5 Billion Years Ago

It would have been easy to believe that the priest and stone were never even there but the Elders had seen him vanish while clutching the Stone.

“We are saved”, said one Elder as they all settled in to the center of the Great Hall to wait for the priests return.

Outside the temple as if by magic, things were immediately changing, tempers were cooling and the violent events were coming to an end.

The doors of the Great Hall had held and a servant reported that the last of the mob was at that moment being forced into the streets. The Temple of the Incantation was secure and empty of priests. This pleased the Elders. Power was now theirs alone.

So now, the Elders waited for the return of the last priest. “Five minutes the old priest said. He should be back soon”, one Elder stated. “Then we can deal with him”.

Pacing the Great Hall in deep thought one Elder stopped and said, “You realize that there is some proof backing that old legend that every instance of time travel causes disasters to occur”.

“Yes, I know the stories but we had to take that chance”, said another. “Besides what disaster could be worse that the fighting in the streets below? Just listen, that priest has only been gone a short time and the fighting is already done. Something has changed and I can only think that it is for the better”.

Still as they waited for the return of the priest, silently praying that this time travel event would only lead to a minor problem because deep down, the Elders still did believe in the old legend.

As the minutes passed waiting for the priest’s return, the Elders started to feel very good about their decision to lose the Stone in time.

Then as quickly as the priest disappeared, he or at least his body reappeared, bloated and lifeless, dead on the floor. A strange, long thin piece of some material had pierced his body. The elders, afraid to touch the item ordered their servants remove it from the lifeless body of the priest.

“Take that for study”, said one Elder motioning to a servant to save the long thin rod that was removed from the priests body.

“Is the Stone with him”, asked another Elder?

This time, not relying on servants, the Elders themselves searched the priest’s body and clothing but the Stone was nowhere to be found.

Glancing at each other, the Elders were relieved and for the first time in days, they relaxed. The Stone was gone and as a bonus, the last Priest of the Incantation was gone. Power was theirs alone.

“Spread the word, the Stone has been destroyed”, ordered one of the Elders and a servant quickly left to post the message.

As word spread of the Stones disappearance even the rioting and fighting in the distant towns subsided. Armies disbanded as neighbor again welcomed to neighbor. Commerce between once warring communities resumed. Peace was restored and some were even bold enough to say that a golden age has begun.

The Elders were praised and their power grew. New palaces were built and they lived in great luxury. In the public eye, the Elders were transforming into god-like beings and plans were made to build temples in their honor.

In private though, the Elders celebrated the end of the Priests of the Incantation and that silly religion. They were now the object of their people’s worship.

Standing on the balcony of a newly constructed palace, the Elders talked among themselves, “How silly we were to believe that time travel would bring disaster. That belief kept us worshiping that ridiculous incantation for too many generations”.

“It has been a year since the priest died”, said another Elder, “and we achieved total power. We shall not be challenged again”.

As one they agreed. With themselves in charge, their world would only get better. Their sky seemed as red as it ever was and the methane atmosphere of their world was as good as ever.

None could notice of the imperceptible increase in oxygen in the atmosphere that started just as the dead priest returned from the future. Slowly oxygen would replace methane and ammonia. Slowly, new creatures would rise to dominate Earth.

The first mass extinction in Earth’s history had begun and They did not notice. The end of the beginning...

_____________________

Next week:

Chapter 7: The Beginning of Now

Chapter 5: You Would Know Me As...

The Present

Late spring was often a great time for just sitting around on the front porch with friends.

If the weather’s right, a warm breeze can cause the memory of snow and cold that ruled the valley just a few weeks before to quickly fade. In a typical town, flowers would be pushing up from the newly thawed ground ready to burst into color, but this was Owens Farm and color and flowers were generally frowned on by the residents.

For Mary, it was nice to see the trees regaining the canopy of green, stripped in the long winter.

“So, you going” Ben asked Mary as they sat on Ben’s porch after school.

Mary, thumbing through the day’s homework, was a little stunned by Ben’s question.

“Of course I’m going, I like Mr. Carlyle and of course, he’s the most interesting person in town”, she said.

“Oh, more interesting than me”, asked Ben jokingly.

“Of course far more interesting”, said Mary continuing the gentle ribbing. “Besides“, she said more matter-of-factly now, “My parents are some of the few folks in town who like Mr. Carlyle. They think it will be a good place to practice my social skills, good place for you too BD. After all, we are growing up”.

“Don’t remind me, I’ve got more homework and less time than ever”, replied Ben.

“Ben”, asked Mary changing the subject, “didn’t you find it rather odd, this whole Student Advisory thing? Nobody in school talked of it, but I guess that means they’d have to care about something. But this council thing, first it’s on. Then it’s off, in just the blink of an eye”

“That’s not the only thing that happened in the blink of an eye”, said Ben. “Mr. Carlyle acted rather strange that day. Somehow I lost track of him. First he’s behind me on the walk and then there he is in the doorway of the school. I just don’t see how I missed it”.

“Oh you were probably fixing your tie, wanting to look all perfect, just perfect”, said Mary with large joking smile on here face, “probably looking at your face in the shine on your shoes and Mr. Carlyle just passed right by you”.

“Enough Mary, Luke makes fun of me enough, I don’t need you joining his chorus”, laughed Ben.

“Oh Luke hasn’t bothered you in a few days Ben”, said Mary. “My dad says that Mr. Nelson decided to let Luke spend a few days in Officer Vache’s jail cell before getting him out. Dad says that it will teach him a lesson”.

“Yeah, well my dad says that it’s just Red Nelson’s way of not having to feed Luke for a few days. His was of saving a few bucks”, said Ben. “I hear that Officer Vache called Mr. Nelson the last two nights trying to get him to come and get Luke out”.

Behind Mary and Ben, the screen door creaked open. Leaning out Ben’s mother said, “Just about dinner time Ben. Mary, are you staying? It’s meatloaf and potatoes today and you are more than welcome”.

“No thanks Mr. Dover, my mom’s expecting me home soon”, said Mary as she collected her school things and started down the front steps. Turning she said, “Ben, be sure to stop by on you way to Mr. Carlyle’s on Saturday, we can walk there together”.

“No problem”, said Ben as he closed the screen door behind him and smelt the delicious odors coming seductively from his mom’s kitchen.

In the kitchen, Eleanor Dover said to her son, “Ben, you should have fun over at Mr. Carlyle’s on Saturday. I’m starting to find him fascinating, the colors and all.”

The turning to get the meatloaf out of the oven Eleanor Dover said, “If fact, I’m thinking of painting our house, something other than brown or gray. Perhaps a blue or red?”

Ben slumped in the chair at the dining room table. “Great”, he thought, “now my whole family will be hated in this dull grey town”.

# # #

Saturday afternoon and Ben was on his way to get Mary for their dinner party with Mr. Carlyle. Walking up her porch, Ben rang the door bell ad waited.

“She sure is pretty”, Ben thought for a second and then shuddered. He had never though of Mary that way before and it startled him. Still slightly confused, the door opened and there Mary stood. “Yes”, Ben thought, “She sure is pretty”.

“Ready to go BD”, said Mary. “Bye mom and we won’t be late”. With that Mary bounded out of the door, took Ben’s hand, much to the surprise of Ben, and proceeded down the street toward Mr. Carlyle’s house.

Sitting on the porch in a floral print rocking chair, was Mr. Carlyle. Seeing the Ben and Mary approaching, he pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and appeared to wipe something from his eyes.

“BD”, said Mary as they walked up to the house, “It sure looked like Mr. Carlyle was crying. I would say he just wiped away a tear.”

“How very like a girl”, joked Ben, “seeing emotions everywhere”.

Mary pulled her hand from Ben’s and turned to face him. “BD, I swear that sometimes just when I think you’re growing up, you become a child again” and Mary folded her arms and marched up the street to Mr. Carlyle’s house.

Ben followed closely behind, “Come on Mary, I was just joking…. Didn’t mean it… please Mary… come on”.

By now Ben and Mary were on the front walk to Mr. Carlyle’s porch where Mr. Carlyle stood and welcomed the two into his house. “I’m going to throw some steaks on the barbeque, baked potatoes too. I do hope you like steak. Old recipe given to me out West many years ago”, said Mr. Carlyle. “Go and grab yourselves a drink from the fridge, there’s several kinds of sodas in there. Go on, grab one and meet me out back”.

With that, Mr. Carlyle went outside to start the grille. Handing Mary a ginger ale, Ben said, “I sure do like him, Mary and have you noticed that things in Owens Farm seem to be brightening up just a bit? Even my parents are talking about colors, granted it was a debate between off-white or egg shell for the front room but that was more than they ever did before.”

“I think your a little optimistic BD”, said Mary. “Let’s face it, the only color around is in and on this house where we now stand. The rest of the town hasn’t changed. Why that can of yellow paint out on the porch is probably the only paint in this town that is not black, brown or some shade of gray”.

“…and soon to be off white”, grinned Ben.

Coming in from the Barbeque, Mr. Carlyle said, “Folks, looks like rain, I think its best we stay inside to eat and I’ll just do the cooking outside. Let’s go into the salon and have a seat.”

Settling into a brightly colored and overstuffed couches and chairs the three friends proceeded to chat and tell tales of their recent times in Owens Farm. Ben was starting to tell Mary about the puzzling incident outside the school just a few days earlier when Mr. Carlyle piped up, “I love chatting with you two about school and such, you know I never had a formal schooling, but I’ve got to go and tend to our dinner, just make you self at home” and Mr. Carlyle as he left the room for the back porch

“I just love this house”, said Mary, “Bright, cheerful, it just makes me feel good”. She leaned back, put her feet up on ottoman and looked very content and almost at home.

Ben though was growing more interest in the artifact and collections lining the walls. Picking up pieces and closely examining them only made his natural curiosity want to learn more. Various paintings, primitive masks and odd clay tablets pressed with strange shapes were placed throughout the room.

“These look very old Mary. Mr. Carlyle must have done nothing but go to distant far off places his whole life”, said Ben as he turned over in his hands a small carving of a gargoyle.

“BD, sit down before you break something”, said Mary as she straightened what appeared to be a photo album left on the table in front of her.

“Hey Mr. Carlyle won’t mind, he always shared things with us before and besides, what did he just say to us? Make yourselves at home, that’s what he said”, said Ben as he was now jiggling doorknobs and making his way around the salon.

“People say that just to be nice, they don’t really mean it, “said Mary who had now risen to her feet and was behind Ben. “Ben, stop poking around”.

Reaching a door in the hallway, Ben reached down and jiggled the door know. “Wonder what this room looks like”, said Ben. Opening the door, Ben peered into the darkness behind. “Looks like the stairway to the basement”, said Ben as he felt along the walls for the light switch.

“Okay, now you’ve gone too far”, complained Mary, as she grabbed Ben’s arm and pulled him back from the dark basement stairs. Resisting her pull, Ben leaned forward. “Let go Mary, just think what’s down there”, said Ben tersely.

Now using both arms and all her strength, Mary grabbed Ben and pulled back. “Do not go down there”, she struggle to say while straining against Ben.

At that moment, Ben realized that he had indeed gone too far and gotten too nosy. Without thinking, he let go of the basement stair railing just as Mary was giving one last pull with all her strength.

Tumbling backward, Mary and Ben knocked over a table dumping its contents with a loud, large crash. Mr. Carlyle ran from the back porch to the hallway and found Mary and Ben tangled on the floor amid broken statues, picture frames and other paraphernalia. Slowly his glance turned to the still open basement door.

“Did you go done there”, he yelled with an anger seeming to shake the walls of the house. Never before had Mary or Ben seen this side of Mr. Carlysle. “What did you see? What did you do”, and he took a rather threatening step toward the two still on the floor.

Ben, terrified of the looming figure of Mr. Carlyle, instinctively tried to shield Mary. Mary though would have no part of his protection and rose quickly to her feet. “We… we.. didn’t… go… er… see.. er…”, she stuttered.

“I offer you hospitality and you sneak through doors where you have no business”, continued an angry Mr. Carlyle, who now seemed to loom above them large and formidable. At least this was how Ben saw it from the mess in the hallway that still entangled his arms and legs.

“Sir, Mary did nothing. It was me. She tried to stop me but I became too caught up in the collections you have in this house”, said a very contrite Ben who by now had untangled himself and was now standing up next to Mary.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Dover. I trust you know that phrase”, said the irate Mr. Carlyle. “Get out. Leave now. I thought I could trust you. I was wrong”. With that Mr. Carlyle turned away from Ben and Mary, his head slumped low as he leaned against the corridor wall. No longer large and threatening, Ben saw him now as a rather sad, depressed elderly gentleman.

“Let’s go”, whispered Mary to Ben, as she took his arm and turned toward the front door. Ben knew that this was a good time for them to leave the house. Together they walked as silently as possible down the corridor and opened the door to leave. Ben slowly glanced over his shoulder to see if Mr. Carlyle was perhaps following after them.

At the first creak of the front door starting to open, Mr. Carlyle turned and said, “Wait, I had no right to act that way toward you two. I was wrong, please stay.” And he broke down in tears. Dropping to his knees and sobbing, he groped through his pockets for a handkerchief.

Mary returned to his side, wrapped her arms around him and tried to comfort the visibly upset Mr. Carlyle. Helping him rise to his feet, they walked back into the salon. Mary and Mr. Carlyle sat on the couch. Ben at first confused by the events closed the front door and joined them, sitting in the chair in the corner.

Whispering in a voice almost too quiet to hear Mr. Carlyle said, “I am too weary, tired of this life I have led. My wife, my children and even my children’s children one hundred times are gone and gone for many years”.

Using the sleeve of his coat to wipe away tears, Mr. Carlyle continued, “I have only married once but I have made a hundred friends only to leave them when my time was done. I have searched for descendants, but only find my lineage blurred by the passage of time. I am alone”.

Ben leaning forward in the chair, listening intently but still wary of Mr. Carlyle’s strange actions said, “You have no family, no one left”?

“Correct Ben”, said Mr. Carlyle, “I have lived too long, outliving those I cared about. This town was to be my final stop, the place to end my travels. Too make my final plans”.

“You must have traveled everywhere to collect all the things we see”, said Mary. “Most of this looks very exotic, valuable. But why didn’t your family travel with you?”

“Oh that is a long story, but perhaps now at the end of my years, it is time to tell”, said Mr. Carlyle. Rising from the couch, Mr. Carlyle opened a closet door, reached in and selected a long velvet wrapped package. Then turning toward Mary and Ben, he unwrapped the package exposing a long sword. Mary cringed and sunk as deep as she could into the couch, thinking that Mr. Carlyle could still be angry about Ben’s attempted visit to the basement.

Mr. Carlyle laughed, “Don’t worry Mary, I’m not going to harm you, relax. Ben, you said you were fascinated with my collection, well this sword is Greek, well older than Greek actually. It would really be dated to the Mycenaean period. In rather good condition don’t you think”? Mr. Carlyle handed the sword to Ben.

Ben rose and took the sword, awkwardly holding it trying not to offend Mr. Carlyle or break any more things.

“Perfect balance, perfect craftsmanship, don’t you think”, said Mr. Carlyle. “Notice that there are no ornate etchings on the shaft or hilt. That is the sword of a true warrior”.

“Uh, I don’t really know… I guess so Mr. Carlyle”, stuttered Ben now relaxing a bit and gently moving the sword back and forth.

Mr. Carlyle smiled, “What if I told you that this sword belonged to Ajax and before him, Hector wielded it in battle. It looks in perfect shape, doesn’t it?”

Mary said nothing. Ben too stopped swaying the sword and was now again growing suspicious of Mr. Carlyle.

“Well, I’m not surprised at the looks on your faces. They barely teach American history anymore in school so there’s no way classic history is taught”, said a smiling Mr. Carlyle, “well anyway, wouldn’t you say the sword was in great shape for being over three thousand years old”?

Ben carefully handed the sword back to Mr. Carlyle. He had broken enough and certainly didn’t want to damage this sword of Ajax, Hector or whoever. Ben was so nervous that he was even afraid that he might drop it on his foot and break a toe or something.

Holding the sword high, Mr. Carlyle continued, “What if I told you that this has been in my possession for just a short time and that I had recovered it after Ajax’s death”.

Mary fidgeted as Mr. Carlyle seemed to make less and less sense. “Maybe”, she said, “Ben and I should just leave now”, her eyes darting around the room looking for the quickest way out, away from Mr. Carlyle and his collections.

“Nonsense”, said Mr. Carlyle, “Sit. My story is just beginning to unfold and I have decided to tell it all to you”. Pacing the room now, Mr. Carlyle was looking for the proper place to start his story. Running over in his head an inventory of all the items filling the closets and halls of his house, he kept repeating over and over, “Where to start? How to start?” all the while spinning the sword of Ajax in the air almost unthinkingly as if second nature.

“He really is crazy”, thought Ben who while eyeing a possible escape route through the open salon window, knew that he could not leave Mary alone with Mr. Carlyle and the sword.

“I’m scaring you two aren’t I, “Said Mr. Carlyle as he now returned the sword to its cabinet. “Please forgive me. Before I tell you tales of my collection, I must tell my story. Now is as good a time as any for I fear that our dinner is hopelessly burnt on the grill” he said with a grin”. “Please relax”.

Now sitting in a chair, Mr. Carlyle paused for a moment and then looked at Ben and Mary. “You are in no danger from me children, please believe”.

“You see, I haven’t been totally honest with you”, said Mr. Carlyle , his grin now gone, replaced by a nervousness and a twitch which Ben and Mary hadn’t noticed before.

“In your eyes, I am maybe seventy-five years old, I am actually much, much older.” said Mr. Carlyle rising from his chair, his stature seeming to grow and his presence filling the room.

Shoulders back, he turned to Ben and Mary and with a deep, almost authoritative voice said, “I am not Cleophus Constanius Carlyle but that is of no consequence. It is just another of many names I have been called over the centuries since my birth”.

“You would know me as Noah”.

____________________

Next week...

Chapter 6 - The End Of The Beginning

The Traveler's Log - 1832 AD - A Shirt of Brilliant Yellow

1832 AD – Paris

Fine day in Paris... warm, sunny and best of all, the cholera epidemic has subsided. People fill the streets and parks even with the talk of revolution.

The rumors are of a student plot against the monarchy but I have no concern this. I shall travel soon. This first day of June is just too beautiful to concern myself with issues of students, barricades and uprisings. I'll leave that debate that to professors, mobs and kings.

So after these many centuries, I have discovered the fate of Syragius. In the Bibliothèque Nationale, there is a history of France after the Romans. Here I found a mention. I am not surprised that he never was granted the asylum he sought but instead was imprisoned and slain by Clovis. To the scholars writing this saga, it was centuries ago, distant and lost in the mists but to me, well it is much closer and I admit bitterness remains.

I have decided to retrace the steps I took with Amon years ago. Soon I leave for the coast of Brittany. I know that I must visit a place called Mont San Michel. And of course, though it has been in my possession for years, wear that shirt of brilliant yellow.

____________

Next week:

Chapter 5: You Would Know Me As...

Chapter 4: You Are Cordially Invited To Join Me For Dinner

The Present

Luke Nelson was growing bored with just beating up Ben Dover. He needed a new game plan, something to add a little more humiliation to the taunting and beatings that he already gave Ben.

He decided to step up his one boy crusade of harassment to a higher level, a greater public humiliation. The only question was how? Being rather dull and easily distracted, it was not easy for Luke to break his pattern of bullying Ben.

The answer came to Luke one day while helping his father, Red Nelson, pick out several cans of new brown paint for their house.

There in Owens Farm hardware store, Red Nelson, was talking to the store’s owner Henry O’Day about paint. Red never really talked to anyone, at least in a friendly manner, unless it was in his best interest and today, he was talking with Henry and pretending to be interested in the hope of striking a better deal on the paint he intended to buy.

Normally, just as unpleasant a character as his son Luke, today Red was more than friendly. Luke had no desire to be in the hardware store since once the paint was purchased, he was sure that he would be the one to paint the house.

Grunting “morning” to Mr. O’Day, Luke received a quick jab in the ribs from his dad. “Be nice and maybe we’ll get a deal”, threatened his dad, quietly in Luke’s ear.

“Need some paint Henry”, said Mr. Nelson with an obvious fake smile, “Oh and how’s that lovely wife of yours?” Knowing that Mr. O’Day loved his wife more than anything, Red Nelson knew that this would immediately get Henry O’Day in a good mood and of course lead to about twenty boring minutes of the latest news on Mrs. O’Day but Red figured that he could use this to get several dollars off of the cost of the paint.

With Red Nelson off with Mr. O’Day listening to tales of Mrs. O’Day and trying to choose just the right shade of brown for their house, Luke was left to wander around the rest of the store. “last thing I need to hear is how Old Lady O’Day’s volunteer work at the hospital is goin”, grumbled Luke below his breath.

He glanced back quickly and saw his dad still grinning that fake grin and Mr. O’Day still going on and on.

Turning up an aisle, Luke came to a place in the hardware store that he and most likely no resident of Owens Farm had ever visited. It was a short aisle, used mainly for storage, lined with boxes of nails, shingles and other items generally found in hardware stores, but there on the shelf was an item that gave him the idea he needed to carry out his plan to humiliate Ben Dover.

There was a single gallon can of bright, yellow paint. Dusty and dirty from years of just sitting on the shelf, Luke knew that this must be his. How? His dad would never agree to buy yellow paint. Luke could hear him bellowing know, “For God’s sake Luke, the whole town is brown and gray, why would I do waste my money on that yellow”.

With it purchase out of the question, Luke decided to simply steal the can but just walking out of the hardware store with it was out of the question. He knew that Mr. O’Day didn’t trust him and would watch him leave the store, all the while looking to see if he had stolen anything.

“So how to get the can of yellow paint”, thought Luke and then the answer appeared before his eyes.

Mr. O’Day and Red Nelson had just completed loading several gallons of dark brown paint into a large box, their deal was about complete. There it was just sitting on the floor amid all the other shades of browns and grays, the chance Luke was looking for.

Henry O’Day was ringing up the tab for the paint at the front counter with Red Nelson gentling reminding, “Remember Henry, that’s two dollars off per can.” He grinned his fake grin again.

Turning now to his son, Red Nelson growled, “Go get that box boy, you’ve got a lot of work to do”.

Perhaps Mr. Nelson should have noticed that Luke went to get the box of paint more cheerfully than he usually would have, but he didn’t.

Off went Luke, realizing that the first part of his plan was working. Picking up the box, Luke took his time, watching his father and Mr. O’Day complete their transaction. With the two of them distracted, Luke quickly ducked down the short aisle where the yellow paint was to be found and quickly placed it at the bottom of the box, under the cans of brown paint.

Joining his father at the checkout counter, Luke gave an almost cheerful, “Got the box father, ready to go”. Then he quickly realized that he might have made a mistake, he was never cheerful with his father or anyone.

Red Nelson turned and stared at his son. Even Mr. O’Day stopped. Luke decided that he must say something mean and say it quickly. Their suspicions were aroused.

“Dad”, he whined, “I don’t want to paint the stupid house and you can’t make me do it”.

With this an argument began between Red and Luke Nelson that continued out the door of the hardware store, down the street and finally finished as Luke place the box holding the cans of paint in the trunk. Mr. O’Day turning away and giving thanks that his family was not like that went back to work, never noticing that the can of yellow paint, down the short aisle used for storage was missing.

With his dad still angry behind the wheel of their car, Luke sat in the passenger’s seat, saying nothing but thinking “First step… complete”.

# # #

Finally after a long day of painting, Luke Nelson was back in his room and could continue his plan of humiliation for Ben Dover.

Luke’s room was filled with clutter of all types and this was just how he liked it. Boxes and clothes filled every nook and cranny. Under his bed, amid thickening dust and more than just a few small squirmy creatures was more boxes and bags. Usually, there was just a small path, only partially cleared from the door of his room to his bed.

Years ago his mother stopped coming in to clean, leaving it up to Luke. She would dutifully place clean sheets, pillow cases and towels out side his door for him to use. Sometimes he would take them and sometimes they sat there for a long time gathering dust.

Luke’s father also never entered his room, not because of the dirt and mess but because of disinterest, he simply didn’t care what Luke did.

And all of this suited Luke just fine since in the room were not just his personal items but also boxes and bags of items that Luke had stolen over the years. Yes, there sat the can of yellow paint, Luke most recent bit of thievery, but this was not what he needed now.

Digging through pile of goods and papers he finally found what he needed, blank, official letterhead of the Owens Farm School system. Luke had stolen several boxes of letterhead when he broke into the school last year.

Originally looking for the chemistry lab and things that he could sell, he got lost in the school. Deciding it was time to leave, he headed for the principal’s office, a place he knew very well. “The window is always easy to open there” he thought. Reaching the office, there outside the door sat a delivery of school letterhead that was not yet put away.

Luke knew that he couldn’t sell but he didn’t want to leave empty handed. He had to take something, so Luke Nelson, climbed out the principal’s window with a pack of Owens Farm School letterhead. Getting home, he climbed through his bedroom window and just threw the letterhead paper in a pile of clothes in the corner.

Opening the paper now, Luke slipped the Owens Farm School System letterhead into his printers and he began to compose a letter. “Phase two begins”, he thought.

# # #

Eleanor Dover sat waiting on the porch, as she always did at about noon, for the daily mail to arrive. Rocking back and forth, she often thought how her husband Albert joked when he bought her that rocking chair several years ago. “It’ll make you old before your time”, he chortled, “Now you can join the elderly ladies for canasta and tea”.

But Eleanor, would just smile, sit back in the rocking chair and relax, knowing that her husband was just joking with her.

So her she sat every day, at just about noon, gently rocking, eyes closed and dreaming, waiting for the daily mail.

“How yer doin Mrs. Dover”, said Johnny Quinn the mailman. “Don’t got much fer you but yer son Ben’s got a little something today”. And with this Mr. Quinn handed the mail over to the rocking Mr. Dover who stood, walked into the house and sorted the mail into several piles.

First pile bills, second pile junk mail and the third pile, well that was usually for everything else, but today, there was a fourth pile, a pile for Ben.

Ben usually got home from school at about three o’clock unless he went over to Mary’s house or, and here Mr. Dover cringed, met up with that awful Luke Nelson again. Sure enough, at three o’clock Ben came through the back door, shouted hello to anyone who might be in the house and headed for the refrigerator for an after school snack.

This time though he mother stood there smiling and greeted him. “Good to have you home son. Any homework? By the way”, she paused, ”You’ve got a letter over there, very official looking and addressed to you”.

Nothing important had ever come through the mail before, except maybe for a birthday card or two from aunts and uncles. Reaching the table Ben saw that it was from the Owens Farm School District.

“Took all I could do not to open it”, said his mother smiling, “but it was addressed to you. Thought it best to give you a little privacy, after all you are growing up, besides, I’ll find out what’s in it soon enough”.

Ben knew this was true. His mother had connections to school through the PTA, the Library Guild and of course the usual network of mothers who share gossip about everything and anything going on in school.

Ben opened the envelope, carefully so as to not rip the materials inside.

“Read it”, said his mother excitedly.

“Mom, I don’t even have it out of the envelope yet, give me a chance”, said Ben.

Unfolding the letter, Ben began reading out loud:

Dear Mr. Benjamin Dover,

The Owens Farm School District is pleased announce your nomination as a freshmen finalist for student of the year for outstanding civic and academic performance.

Should you win, you will join the winners of other classes on a special advisory committee to the Owens Farm School Board.

As a requirement, you must select an adult sponsor, to act as your mentor and guide during your one year term. It is also required that this mentor and guide be someone other than a parent.

You and your selected sponsor are required to attend a pre-award ceremony meeting at 3:00pm on May 28 at my office. Do not call. Do not reply, just be there.

Sincerely,

Charlie Biggs

Principal Owens Farms School

“Kind of a rude ending”, said Ben’s mother. “Principal Biggs must have had a secretary write it, he never would have ended as harsh as that”. She took the letter from Ben and read it again. “And son, you’ve really been doing just average at school, haven’t you? I love you but I wouldn’t call your school performance outstanding.”

Rereading the letter several times, Ben’s mother finally said, ”Hmm… looks official enough but I’ll ask around at the PTA meeting”.

Ben ignored all his mother’s concerns. “Mom this is great”, beamed Ben, “I wonder who else is on the list. I’ll bet Mary, yes it’s got to be Mary”.

Then it hit Ben, who would be his sponsor? While he wished it could be his father, the letter said that it could not be a parent.

“You and Mr. Carlyle get along great. Why don’t you ask him, Ben”, said his mother. “If nothing else, Mr. Carlyle will sure shake up those old fuddy-duddies on the school board. I can just see him coming in with orange shoes, blue pants and a lime green jacket”, and she smiled a sly little smile.

“Mom”, said Ben with a rising panic in his voice, “this meeting is tomorrow, what if I can’t get Mr. Carlyle? What shall I do?”

Calmly, Mrs. Dover took the telephone, handed it to Ben and said, “You’ll never know until you ask. Call him now and see”.

Ben dialed and walked out onto the back porch to talk with Mr. Carlyle in privacy.

“He said yes, mom. He said yes”.

# # #

Luke could only hope that his plan was going to work and that Ben Dover would show up for the three o’clock meeting in the principal’s office. “This will be great”, he thought.

Directly above the main entrance to the Owens Farm School was a room which was once the office of the school custodian. Abandoned now and used as general storage, it was rarely visited by anyone in the school but it figured prominently in Luke’s plan to embarrass Ben Dover.

With a door set just slightly in from the main second floor corridor, it would be simple for someone to slip unnoticed into the room.

Luke knew the room well. With a set of keys he stole during an earlier break in at the school, he often went there to sleep while cutting classes or to hide after some incident he caused in the schoolyard or cafeteria brought the teachers, principal or police out.

The abandoned custodian’s office had a window overlooking the main sidewalk leading up to the school. The path Luke knew that Ben and his mentor would use to get into the school for that phony meeting he set up. Luke chuckled silently to himself as he hung out in the hallway pretending to be interested in this bulletin board or that poster, but all the while waiting for a chance to slip into the room unnoticed.

Pretending to read a recent posting about the chess club, Luke slowly moved his head, looking up and then down the hall. “The moment must be right”, he thought, “none of these school idiots must notice”.

Finally Luke’s chance came. A small fight broke out among some freshmen down the school corridor and everyone’s attention was drawn to it.

First slipping into the small alcove in front of the abandoned office, Luke gave one more quick glance up and down the hall. “Perfect”, he thought. Then he opened the door and jumped inside.

Silently closing the door behind him, Luke latched it from the inside. “No need for some fool to come into this room accidentally”, Luke thought. Then moving aside some boxes, he found the can of yellow paint he had hid there earlier in the week.

Grinning ever wider, Luke was pleased with the events that were about to occur. Prying off the top of the paint can Luke looked at the paint and for a second considered, mixing it to get a better color. “Nah, that would be like... work”, and he chuckled again and moved toward the window.

Prying open the window and Luke leaned slightly out, careful not to be seen by anyone outside. “Perfect, perfect”, he muttered “Ben won’t know what hit him”.

With the window open and the can of yellow paint sitting just inside the sill, Luke got a chair and sat staring out the window for his intended victim.

“This was going to be too good”, thought Luke very proud of himself and his plan. Students, teachers and some parents came and went but Luke continued to watch and wait, waiting for the one victim he wanted.

Then, after about ten minutes, Luke sat up with a start. There they were, that idiot Ben and that old fool Carlyle just coming up the school walkway. “This is too good”, thought Luke, “Not only do I get that jerk Ben but I get that colorful old fool too”.

Not suspecting that any was out of the ordinary, especially the plot that Luke was about to hatch, just above their heads, Ben and Mr. Carlyle walked up the path to the school’s entrance. Ben was slightly ahead of Mr. Carlyle who was fidgeting with his maroon tie and a too starched collar on his cyan blue shirt.

“Can’t get this tie just right, Ben”, said Mr. Carlyle, “Go on, I’ll catch up in a second”.

One floor above at the abandoned office window, Luke was increasingly anxious to push the yellow paint can out the window and then marvel at how well his plan worked.

“Wait, wait”, said Luke as he teetered the can of yellow paint on the ledge. “Not yet. Can’t let it go to soon?” He was nervously fingering the yellow can of paint as it inched ever closer to the end of the window sill.

Ben was now directly below the window as he stopped to check his watch to make sure they were on time for the meeting.

“Now”, said Luke silently to himself and he started to give the can a final shove to the end of the window.

Mr. Carlyle, still trailing Ben by a few feet, paused. “Something is not right”, he thought and gave a quick glance around looking for something, anything out of the ordinary.

Then a bit of movement in the window directly above the school entrance drew his attention. Mr. Carlyle slipped his hand into the pocket of his metallic blue and red jacket, he found what he was looking for.

Seconds seemed to pass but in reality it was far less.

Like Luke above, Mr. Carlyle was now also waiting for the right time to act to prevent mayhem not to cause it. “Wait, wait”, thought Mr. Carlyle, “Now”.

At that very moment, Luke Nelson gave a final shove and the can of yellow paint spilled out of the window, falling toward the unsuspecting Ben below.

Also in that moment, Mr. Carlyle, his hand still in his pocket, recited something and was gone but then, so was the falling can of yellow paint. Where Mr. Carlyle had once stood, just behind Ben was now empty space. Where the can of yellow paint was falling and spilling through the air was also empty space.

Ben turned to see why Mr. Carlyle was lagging behind him, but there was no Mr. Carlyle. Taking a few steps toward where he last thought Mr. Carlyle was, Ben started to yell out for him.

Then a voice from the school doorway called out calmly, “Ben, come on in, don’t lag behind”. It was Mr. Carlyle.

“But… How”, Ben was stuttering. “Mr. Carlyle weren’t you behind me? And now… there…How”.

“My dear Ben, “said Mr. Carlyle, “You really must pay more attention to what is going on around you. Bad news though, I just saw the principal, the Student Advisory Committee had to be cancelled. Not enough interest. I’m so sorry Ben”.

Still confused, Ben stammered, “Who? Where did… er… you see Mr. Biggs? You couldn’t have had enough time.”

“Ben”, said a calm Mr. Carlyle, “I’ve got all the time in the world. By the way, have I told you about the nice yellow paint I just bought to redo my kitchen?”

And he smiled. Ben, who was still confused, followed Mr. Carlyle down the path from the school, back to his car, just as Officer Vache was arriving.

“Good afternoon Officer Vache”, said Mr. Carlyle, “I think you’ll find Principal Biggs holding Luke Nelson up on the second floor. Apparently, he broke into a storage closet”.

“Thanks Carlyle”, said Officer Vache with just a touch of annoyance in his voice since this little school break-in would cut into his afternoon nap.

Driving Ben back home from school, Mr. Carlyle could see the obvious disappointment in Ben’s face. “You sure looked forward to the Student Advisory Panel, didn’t you Ben”, said Mr. Carlyle.

“Yeah, I’m, disappointed”, said Ben, “I really thought, no, I knew that I could make a difference”.

“Well Ben, I was going to mail this to you and Mary but I think that it’s best I give it to you now”, and he handed Ben an envelope.

Opening it, Ben read out loud, “You are cordially invited to join me for dinner…”

“Here’s an invite for Mary too”, Mr. Carlyle said” perhaps you could drop it at her house”?

Turning up the road to Ben’s house, Mr. Carlyle continued, “It was supposed to be a congratulations dinner on your new job at the school but well, now I guess it will just have to be a few friends getting together. Is steak good? How about four-thirty, next Saturday?”

__________________________

Next week...

The Travelors Log: 1832 AD - A Shirt of Brilliant Yellow

The Traveler’s Log - 486 AD - I Will Flee This Dying World

486 AD – North Central Gaul

It’s cold, raining and the Franks will be upon us within days. Fires signaling their advance through villas and farms around Noviodunum grow nearer. Syragius’ public face encourages his men to stand firm and repel that Franks, but in private his preparations to flee continue. As the walls are breached, his plan will be in motion.

Good news, I have chosen the next location to secure my goods. A Roman place would not do, that world is disappearing. Also I could not choose barbarian lands, no history or stability in their ways. Visigoths, Franks and others, constantly moving, relocating. They sometimes destroy the older cultures, sometimes merge but always change, too transient and unsure for my liking.

Yesterday, I met a curious little fellow claiming to be a Celtic nobleman, Amon of Dyfed. I must say we had many laughs over how he chose the worst possible time to travel through Noviodunun back to his village on the southern coast of Briton. Over much wine, he spun marvelous tales of life in Briton, and of his wife Anna and newborn son. In friendship he presented me with some brilliantly colored cloth, rich, thick and of a vibrant yellow. I accepted and in return gave him amulets gathered from my time in Egypt.

Among his tales, this Amon of Dyfed delivered an interesting bit of information, news of a sanctuary, a tidal island, not much more than a rock but almost inaccessible. Here, his countrymen are building a refuge from the Saxon’s threat they face in Briton.

I’ve listened eagerly to his tale of this sometimes island, sometime peninsula, steep and rocky. By evenings end, I decided that this shall be where my goods from this stay are to be preserved, a place distant from the crumbling structures of Rome.

Tonight, I leave Syragius forever and accept Amon’s invitation to travel with him. I will not die defending the lost Roman cause. I will live and when my time here ends, I will pick a new destination and continue my journey.

Amon has entered the hall and is urging me to leave now, Clovis and the Franks will be at the south wall by dawn.

I will flee this dying world.

__________________________

Next week...

Chapter 4: You Are Cordially Invited To Join Me For Dinner

Chapter 3: Maybe Mr Carlyle Wasn't Crazy But He Sure Was Close

81 Years Ago

Al Parker, nicknamed Salty because of his habit of practically burying everything he ate in salt, had been neither a good or bad boss. Like everything else in Owens Farm, he was barely noticed by townspeople. In fact, he was barely noticed by the miners who worked for him.

If it weren’t for the large trucks emptying his house, within days of the mine closing, he never would have been noticed at all.

Perhaps feeling a bit of remorse at the closing of the mine, Salty Parker tried to find the mayor to express his regret at leaving. Quickly though, he had second thoughts when he noticed what could have been just about every mine employee marching up Elm Street to where he lived. This type of passion and energy was highly unusual in a town like Owens Farm.

Assessing the situation and realizing that he never had to set foot in Owens Farm again, Salty Parker’s remorse of just a few moments before turned quickly to self preservation. Jumping into his car and speeding off, Salty Parker gave little wave to the mob gathering in front of his house.

Several tried to pursue but Parker was quickly over the hill, never to be seen again.

“Burn it” screamed the mob and it was in this moment that Chief Harry Sager and several other police officers of the Owens Farm Police Department performed one of the few real acts of policing they ever had to do.

Running up from the police station, because Owens Farms only police car was getting an oil change at the new service station on State Route 123, the puffing and panting officers positioned themselves between the mob and the house.

Double over and desperately trying to get his breath, Chief Sager finally got out, “C’mon guys put the matches out. Nothin’ gonna burn today”.

And with that it was over. The mob’s passion had instantly gone.

Apparently the blandness of the town of Owens Farm, grey buildings, grey personalities, carried over into a kind of grey passion. Not hot, not cold but just quickly dissipating. Nothing was forgiven but the moment of revenge had dissolved. And the moment of usefulness for the town’s police officers disappeared too.

Chief Sager decided that it was time for lunch and went down to the restaurant on Main Street. After that, perhaps the police car was ready. The mob went back to their homes accomplishing nothing but then nothing was ever accomplished in Owens Farm.

And with this, the last official of the Eastern Mineral and Mining Associates left town and the large bland house at the end of Elm Street sat vacant.

# # #

The house around the corner from Mary’s house and just at the end of Elm Street had sat vacant ever since the mines had shut down many decades before. It differed from other homes in Owens Farm only by its size but not by design.

While it bore the gray siding so prevalent in Owens Farm, it had at least twice the number of rooms of any house in town. This large home was the former residence of Al Parker, the last manager of the Eastern Mineral and Mining Associates.

For a while, several citizens from the next town, just over the ridge, tried to make a small hotel out of the abandoned house but with no business in Owens Farm, there was no need for folks to stay over night in the town.

Abandoned for many years, the house though remained in very good condition. Since it was the nature of the people of Owens Farm to not poke their noses into other people’s business and, the big house at the end of Elm Street was, other peoples business.

Periodically a neighbor or two would mow the grass of the big when it just got too long and looked out of place. Remember, that the good folks of Owens Farm didn’t want anything to stand out and look out of place, so mowing the grass regained the conformity that made everyone comfortable.

Years passed and now, today, nobody was quite sure who the owner was and nobody in town ever really cared to find out, as long as the house fit in.

# # #

1 Year Ago

The big house at the end of Elm Street had been vacant for over twenty years but now it was going to get a new life. Mr. Carlyle was moving in.

Mr. Carlyle was an average size man who had sort of a confidence about him that said, without words that he been to many places and experienced many things. He had white hair, just long enough to blow and wave when the winds picked up. His eyes seemed to completely know his surroundings even though they were often gazing off in an entirely different direction.

What really set off Mr. Carlyle and that which made him totally different from other residents of Owens Farm were his colorful clothes. Perhaps colorful was an understatement for Mr. Carlyle liked the brightest of bright colors, often with bold patterns and prints.

The day Carlyle moved in, most of the town took no notice of his arrival, at least for a few hours. Even the flashing of his bright jacket as he stepped out of the taxi brought no notice except for the two children peering from an upstairs window that could see the large house at the end of Elm Street.

“Move on over BD, it’s about time I looked out of my own window”, said Mary giving Ben a quick but firm punch in the ribs”

“Ow. Watch it Mary, those ribs are still sore from Luke’s punches”, Ben muttered as he moved out of the small window.

“That guy isn’t very tall”, said Mary. “I bet I’m as tall as him. Is his hat bright green”?

Still rubbing his sore ribs, BD moved back to share the window with Mary but a large moving truck blocked their view of Mr. Carlyle and the large bland house.

“That’s a large truck, wonder if he’s got a wife and kids coming?” said Mary, jockeying with Ben for a better position at the window.

“My turn”, shouted Ben and he gave Mary a little shove pushing her out of the window, the chair she was sitting in and onto the floor.

“BD, for that your never getting another look out of the window”, declared Mary.

“Look Mary, let’s just go for a walk. Perhaps in the direction of the moving van and casually check out the stuff he’s got”, said Ben backing away from Mary.

“Sound good to me” said Mary. “It saves you the humiliation of being pushed out of the way by a girl”.

Those words instantly cut deep in Ben for in his mind, it seamed that had been beaten, stepped on and thrown around by just about everyone in Owens Farm.

Starting to lash out at Mary, he saw her smile and realized that Mary was not mean to him. It had all been in jest, gentle ribbing among friends.

Running down the stairs and through the kitchen Ben and Mary were off to do a little spying on the new neighbor.

“Back soon mom”, Mary shouted as she and Ben left to head for a not-so-quick walk by the moving van.

As they turned the corner onto Elm Street, something did not seem quite right to Ben, something that he could sense but not yet answer. “Mary, something’s just plain different here?” he said.

Mary had sensed it too as she got the first glimpse of the moving van in front of the big house at the end of Elm Street. “Yeah but… wait I know. BD it color. Look at the moving van”.

True enough it was color. Ben and Mary slowly walked toward the moving van and were both speechless. There before them was the most colorful collection of furniture, paintings, trinkets and do-dads that had ever been unloaded in the town of Owens Farm.

Near the tree in the front yard was a brilliant, fluorescent yellow table positioned next to an orange lamp shaped like a yawning hippopotamus. There were multicolored couches, a desk of brilliant green and seemingly endless rainbows of kitchen utensils, boxes overflowing with all shades and manner of household goods.

“Blue cabinets and purple chairs”, said Mary, “I don’t believe it. The people in this town are going to flip”.

“Yeah, they’ll chat it up at the diner for a few days and then forget about it like folks around here always do”, said Ben.

From their position down the street, they could see clustered together on the lawn, more color than was to be found anywhere in Owens Farm. Ben felt that surely aircraft flying over the grey hills and town could spot this blaze of green, blues, red, oranges and any other hue that could be imagined.

“Let’s get closer”, whispered Ben to Mary who was now standing silent at the endless parade of colorful items being unloaded from the moving van.

Running down the street, Mary and Ben had now given up any idea of casually strolling by and examining the household now moving into the big house.

In awe at the colorful explosion around them, they had not even realized that they were now running up the front walk of the house. Finally they stopped halfway between the porch and the street and reveled at the color surrounding them.

In awe, Ben and Mary started wandering between the boxes the moving men were piling on the lawn. The colors filled their senses, overshadowing any idea that they had about staying out of other peoples things. A red box over there, a purple box here and in a box that was partially open, they saw brilliant figurines catching the rays of the sun and reflecting a sea of color in all directions at once.

“Mary” cried Ben as he stood up with a jolt. “Do you notice anything about these things? About the colors I mean. Do you notice what’s missing. Look. Look carefully”.

Mary stood, faced Ben and was immediately startled by the figure standing behind Ben.

“Behind you, watch out” she shouted. And taking a quick step away from the figure she tripped over a small fuchsia table behind her and fell into the bushes.

Ben spinning around was too startled by the looming figure. Starting to run, he tripped over Mary trying to untangle herself from the bush that now held her captive.

The figure walked to the edge of the porch, bent over slightly. The mouth beneath the angular nose drew a slight breath and said firmly, “Of course something’s missing. I don’t like grey”, and the he smiled.

Mary and Ben lay motionless in the now flattened bush as the figure came down the porch steps and offered a hand in assistance.

Mary squirmed away from the hand breaking several branches before she tumbled into the boxes stacked on the lawn. Ben squirmed and now also became deeply tangled in the bushes.

“You know of course that it is polite to ask before you go poking through things belonging to others”, said the figure pulling back his hand and now standing on the lawn.

Ben cringed at the words coming from the figure of a man standing before him. This is going to be worse than anything Luke ever did to me, thought Ben. And poor Mary, she’s never had to face a thing like this.

Mary though was silent, imagining a fate that was going to be quick and most likely painful or at the very least embarrassing, like a call to Officer Vache or her parents.

Of course anything one imagines is almost always worse than the reality of the situation.

The figure again extended his hand, smiled and announced, “My name’s Cleophus Constanius Carlyle, been called that for some time now. Glad to meet you. I figured that the townsfolk I would meet be upright citizens. Well, at least they would be standing upright”.

Ben took the Mr. Carlyle’s outstretched hand and with very little effort was gently pulled out of the bushes.

Picking pieces of the bush out of his clothes Ben said, “Sorry about the bush sir. I broke it, so I’ll replace it sir”.

“First don’t call me sir. My full name is a mouthful so Cleo will do although an occasional Mr. Carlyle might be nice. And second while the green of evergreens is pretty, it’s not bright enough for me”.

Motioning to the shrubbery around the front porch, Cleo continued, “I’m ripping these out and putting plants that are a little more colorful. So, no need to replace what you broke, this time anyway”.

Ben having completed the removal of all twigs and branches from his clothing said, “My name’s Ben but friends know me as DB and this is…”

“I can introduce myself” said Mary, lifting herself from the pile of boxes she had knocked over. “Mary Moore, Sir… Mr…. er Cleo. I live just around the corner and DB and myself were just so fascinated by the colorful things you own that we had to come over and well sorry we were pests but this color just can’t be found in Owens Farm, apparently we lost our heads and never should have gone on your porch without you permission and…”.

“Hold it little lady. Take a breath”, Cleo said with a chuckle. “Everything is all right. Now if you will excuse me, I’ve got a bit of brightening to do. Come back and visit anytime. You’re more than welcome.”

With that Mr. Cleophus Constanius Carlyle turned and walked back into the house. The movers resumed their jobs and Mary and Ben stood there for a second before strolling back down Elm Street.

“What do you think he means by ‘brightening’ Mary”, said Ben.

Mary could not imagine but already the bright packaging and household goods were starting to draw the attention of Owens Farm. The newly repaired police car slowly rolled by with Officer Vache sternly gazing out the window and wondering what manner of folk were now moving into Owens Farm.

Just before turning the corner onto Mary’s Street, Ben gave a little look back over his shoulder at the house at the end of the street. “This could be fun Mary. This could be fun”, and he smiled a little smile.

# # #

The next several months answered the question about ‘brightening” than Ben had asked Mary. With in the month, Mr. Carlyle had painted the outside of the large house at the end of Elm Street in the most dazzling array of colors every seen.

Lime green shutters lay against siding painted orange-red. The porch was redone in purple tiles with cyan blue highlights. Doors were done not in just one color but in the entire spectrum of colors. Sometimes violet hues to red other times red hues to violet.

Even the concrete sidewalk, right up to the curb was painted in the brightest colors available. The roof look like something out of a fairy tail as its array of color caught the sun at varying angles from sunrise to sunset providing a magnificent light show for the neighbors.

But in the beginning the neighbors did not appreciate or even want a ‘magnificent light show” and the grumblings were loud.

A least one family had threatened to move from a house near Mr. Carlyle’s home and relocate to the other side of Owens Farm but that required more conviction than most folks in Owens Farm had and soon the grumblings were silent. The citizens of Owens Farm just muttered under their breath to each other about “that” house at the end of Elm Street.

Mr. Carlyle tried but he could not endear himself to the citizens of Owens Farm. He invited neighbors over for barbeque but every one had excuses and other things to do. He offered to donate a new police car to the town but was politely but surely rebuffed. His first time attending a meeting of the Owens Farm City Council had others at the meeting sitting as far from him as possible. Mr. Carlyle was sure that if they could move to another room, they would. The meeting was the shortest ever on record.

Mr. Carlyle always dressed as flamboyantly as the house in which he lived. The shoes he wore were often of different, but always bright colors. Sometimes his pants were as green as any worn by a Leprechaun. There were red vests covered by blue jackets.

The only things that never changed were his flowing white hair and the affection he had developed for Mary and Ben.

As for Mary and Ben, they found Cleo fascinating for he brought color to their young lives in the grey town of Owens Farm.

They often stood on the sidewalk in front of Cleo’s house and played a little game to see who could find what was the latest color added to the house. Cleo would often come out sit on the porch and talk with them for hours.

They talked about the weather, the possibility of new road construction on Main Street and a hundred other un-important, but very friendly, neighborly things.

Sitting on Mary’s porch one Sunday afternoon, Ben and Mary watched Cleo drive down the street in his multicolored car, wearing almost glowing clothes. Cleo gave a hearty wave to Mary and Ben and turned onto his street.

Mary leaned to Ben and said, “Well he did say he didn’t like grey”.

Ben thought to himself, maybe Mr. Carlyle wasn’t crazy but he sure was close.

________________________________

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Traveler’s Log - 486 AD - I Will Flee This Dying World