Desi left me in a fascinating room while she went in search of her uncle. I sank into one of two leather chairs that were placed in front of a giant oak desk and let my eyes wander the room. It was a comfortable space with the kind of warm lighting that could soothe you to sleep if there wasn’t so much to look at. Overhead, the dome-shaped ceiling was like an indoor observatory. Painted midnight blue, it sparkled with fiber-optic starlight. In the center of the dome a mechanical solar system orbited the soft glow of an orb-shaped light meant to be the sun.
A room-length bookshelf loaded with hundreds of books lined the back wall. Antique maps and charts framed the remaining walls. I recognized a few DaVinci sketches as well—after all he was one of Dad’s favorite inventors. I especially liked DaVinci’s knack for writing things in reverse. An unfinished chess game was set up on a table between my chair and the one across from me. From the looks of things, white was winning.
At the center of the room, directly under the sun, sat a large ornate oak desk. The surface was clean and organized—a place for everything. Even the one loose pen left on the desk was positioned in a perfectly straight line. The room looked like it had been prepared for a museum—with one exception. A second desk, more of a drafting table actually, sat in the back corner of the room. I hadn’t noticed it until now because it was partially blocked by a potted palm tree. This desk held a sloppy pile of sketches, pencils, brushes and crumpled up papers.
Only a few of the charcoal sketches could be seen from this distance but they were really quite good. The first was a picture of an eagle soaring over a sparkling white city at night. The second sketch was a bit more surreal, featuring a manta ray floating through the sky. But it was the third and final sketch that made me pause. It was unlike the others, a still-life picture of a grandfather clock. In the picture the hands on the clock face were approaching the eleventh hour, but there was something different about the clock. Instead of numbers on its face, it had symbols.
Could it be Aviad’s clock? I wondered.
In a rush, I hurried over for a closer look. Sure enough the clock in the picture looked almost identical to the one Aviad kept in his bookshop. Only there was something different. The symbols didn’t look at all familiar to me. They were similar in design, but certainly not the same as the ones I had seen before on the clock and on the back of my Author’s Writ. I took note of it and glanced over the other drawings once more.
On second glance I noticed I had misinterpreted the other two drawings. The first was not of an eagle at all; it was a Thunderbird with the shadowy silhouette of a man riding on its back. And even though I had never seen the manta ray creatures before, the second drawing had a few floating shards of land in the distant clouds. This could only mean one thing: whoever had drawn these pictures had been to Solandria.
“Solandria,” I whispered aloud. In many ways the place seemed like a far-away dream. It was odd to know that I had been there only a few days ago and yet had no memory to show for it. What Trista had told me about my visit sounded so amazing, but none of it felt real. I sighed, suddenly realizing how Stretch must have felt. He probably wanted to believe what I was saying, but without memories to match my own it was impossible.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” a short, smartly dressed man asked. He had entered the room so quietly I wasn’t even aware he was there. Embarrassed, I backed away from the desk.
“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to pry…” I began to say.
“Not at all, dear boy,” said the man, a pipe clinched tightly between his teeth. He appeared to be nearing sixty, and spoke with the formal accent one only gets from living overseas. He was a rugged, good-looking man for his age, with a spirit of adventure in his tanned face. His long white hair was neatly combed back, his beard short, trimmed and peppered with patches of dark grey. Desi slipped in behind the man, who I assumed was her uncle.
Removing the pipe from his lips, he said, “It is an honor to cross paths at last, Hunter. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this day.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mr.…uh….” Halfway through my greeting, I realized I couldn’t remember his name. I had seen it on the book cover at the library, but already it had slipped my mind.
“Oh, never mind the mister part. Simon’s the name, simply Simon.” We shook hands in a warm greeting.
“Anyway, I’m sorry for all the excitement,” Simon confessed. “Desi’s driving didn’t alarm you, I hope?”
“No, she’s…a great driver,” I replied, casting a sideways glance in her direction. Desi smirked and mouthed the word “liar” as she leaned against the doorframe.
“Are these yours?” I asked, pointing to the charcoal drawings beside me.
“Oh heavens no. I haven’t an ounce of artistic blood in me—not for lack of trying mind you. I’m more of a collector, you might say. I find art to be an illuminating expression of one’s soul.” He manuevered toward the desk and started shuffling through the pictures to find others lower in the pile. “Actually, I’m glad you’ve noticed them; they are part of the reason I’ve been looking for you.”
“The pictures?”
“Yes, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Nasty habit of mine, do forgive me.” He cleared his throat and waved a hand at Desi to shut the door behind us. Whatever he was about to say next was meant for the three of us alone. Desi did as she was told, then slumped into one of the chairs beside me.
The man raised his pipe and took a few lingering puffs in silence. The smell of the smoke was like the fragrance of the juniper tree in our neighbor’s front yard.
“I assume that Desi has told you why you’re here?”
“Actually, we didn’t really have time to talk,” I answered, glancing between the two of them. “She told me the Watchers are after me and that I might be in trouble.”
“Indeed,” Simon said grimly. “How much do you know about the Watchers?”
“Nothing really, except that Vogler is one of them, I think.”
“Yes, and a very persistent one at that. He will not rest until he gets what he is after, something he believes you can help him find.”
“Which is what exactly?” I asked, hoping to get to the reason for the chaos of the past few days.
“This is where you must take a leap of faith with me, Hunter. There are many legends and half-truths surrounding the Watchers’ very existence. Some say they are simply exaggerations of historical figures; some claim they are keepers of a secret that will one day bring an end to all things, and of course many deny they exist at all. I myself have reason to believe some of the legends are actually true and that the Watchers are indeed alive and well today. Actually, the oldest and most reliable accounts come from the Author’s Writ itself. I will share with you what I have come to learn through my research, but ultimately, you must choose what you believe is true.”
He emphasized this last statement by pulling the pipe from his mouth and poking the stem of it in the air at me. Simon raised an eyebrow in thought, carefully considering where he should start his explanation. With years of research to cover, he would only touch on the essentials.
“Long before the Author wrote the story of our world, he created another where radiant beings of light called Shining Ones, lived in harmony with each other and the written world around them. Among them were an elite class known as the Watchers. The first Watchers were simply guardians—keepers of the Author’s most sacred treasures. One of the most precious and powerful possessions in the storehouse was a relic known as the Eye of Ends.”
As he spoke, Simon retrieved a copy of his own book from the bookshelf, and flipped quickly through the pages to an illustration somewhere in the opening chapters. It was an ancient graphic of three tall, faceless figures, each standing guard around what looked to be a circular object with a symbol etched in its center. It was the Watchers’ symbol—an eye.
Simon continued, “The Eye of Ends is a looking glass created by the Author himself from a polished, petrified cross-section of the first tree of Solandria—the Living Tree. As you may already know, this tree was once the source of life for our world. Because the Bloodstone was embedded within the tree itself, the Living Tree was said to retain the entire story of our world within its rings: past, present and future.”
“You mean, it can predict the future?” I asked. Simon fixed his gaze right on me, searching my eyes with his own.
“Not predict, Hunter, reveal…reflect. As far as the Author is concerned, the future of this world is already written. The Eye merely reveals to mortals what the Author has already determined will be.”
He let the idea of the artifact sink in before continuing.
“After the Bloodstone was stolen and its curse shattered the shards of Solandria, the Author removed what remained of the tree and created the Eye of Ends, placing it under the guardianship of the Watchers. Throughout history only a very few people have been granted the privilege of using the Eye of Ends, but never were they allowed to look directly upon it.”
“How do they use it then?”
“The Watchers brought the Eye to chosen individuals while they slept. The soul of the sleeper would awaken in a Maze of Rings where the Watcher would reveal a vision that the sleeper was meant to see. The visions are revealed through dreams—dreams that were meant to serve as warnings of things to come.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “If the Watchers are working for the Author, then wouldn’t that make them good?”
“Some, but not all Watchers still serve the Author. In fact, one of the Watchers who vowed to protect the Eye betrayed him and stole it,” Simon explained.
“Let me guess...Vogler?” I asked.
Simon nodded. “He appears in many forms and goes by many names both in Solandria and the Veil. Vogler is one, but his given name is Tonomis.”
“But why would he do that? Why would he steal the Eye for himself?” I asked.
“As a Watcher he was not allowed to see the visions of the Eye himself. That honor was reserved for select mortals and the Author, of course. Over time, Vogler came to suspect the Author’s intentions for the story’s end were not as good as he had once believed. When he was alone, Vogler stole the Eye and hid with it in Solandria, hoping to discover for himself what the coming end would be. In using the Eye he broke his vow and became imprisoned inside the Maze of Rings.”
“So, how did he escape?” I asked.
“What makes you think he did?” Simon asked.
“Well, I just assumed since Vogler is free he found a way out.”
“He did not find any way out; rather a way found him. For countless ages the Eye of Ends remained lost in Solandria, deep in the forests of Solone, until one day a goblin by the name of Volias happened upon it. The mortal’s touch awakened the Eye’s power and his soul joined the Watcher in the Maze of Rings. The Watcher led Volias to a vision in the rings as he had done for so many mortals in ages past. When Volias awakened from the Maze, Vogler somehow returned with him. He was free. Still, he could not quench his thirst for more of the Eye’s knowledge. He asked the goblin about the vision he’d been given and found the goblin had no memory of it, except for the single picture he sketched for the Watcher. It was the image of a lightning bolt, striking the tree outside his village. The very next night, the exact tree was struck.”
“The Watcher stayed with the goblin, promising him great power if he would continue to use the Eye. They entered the Maze of Rings several times together, each time with the same results. The goblin returned with a single image from his visions and would sketch it for the Watcher to see.”
“Of course, power of this kind is hard to keep quiet. Volias was careless and bragged about his gift to his friends. He sold the images for vast wealth. But, when one of his friends learned the source of his visions, he stabbed Volias in the back and took the Eye from him. Volias died and when he did the Eye bound itself to the one who had slain him, Gargamas, a young recruit in the Shadow army.”
“Vogler followed the Eye and helped Gargamas learn how to use it. Like the former owner, Gargamas could remember only a single image when he returned. Gargamas rose in the Shadow ranks until he too was slain by another Shadow warrior. And so the cycle continued for ages. Every time the previous owner was killed, a new owner would be mentored by the Watcher.”
“That’s an interesting story, but it still doesn’t explain why the Watcher would be looking for me. I don’t have the Eye. I didn’t even know anything about it until today.”
“No…but someone close to you did.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Some time ago the Eye of Ends changed hands again. This time, a lone Codebearer killed a Shadow lord in battle—Lord Bledynn, a Vulvynn, who unbeknownst to the Codebearer was also the current keeper of the Eye. As before, the relic passed into the killer’s hands. That man was your father, Caleb Brown.”
“My…my father?” I asked, stumbling over the words. I searched Desi’s face for answers. She simply smiled knowingly and nodded my attention back to Simon. “My father had the Eye of Ends? How do you know?”
“Because these are your father’s drawings, Hunter,” Simon said, pointing to the stack of papers. “All of these and many more document what he saw in the Maze of Rings.” Taking new interest in the drawings, I began flipping through them. The three on top were by far the tamest images in the collection. Most of the others were disturbing and dark: a village being burned to the ground, a shard of land cracking in two beneath a giant fist, a figure falling headlong into the black clouds of the Void. Then, I came to an image that nearly made my heart stop. The picture was of Aviad and me, his hand plunged into my chest where the Bloodstone once was. Dad must have seen this in the Maze of Rings…in the Eye of Ends.
“I can’t believe he was here…in Destiny all this time and he never told me,” I said. “Why wouldn’t he have tried to reach us?”
“He was afraid for you, Hunter—afraid for his family.”
“Afraid? Of what?”
Simon raised a knowing eyebrow and the answer hit me before he could speak again.
“Oh, right…Vogler,” I said, finally piecing things together in my mind.
“Your father and I both served in the Codebearers’ ranks; we were like brothers. After your father recovered the Eye, Tonomis or Vogler, as you know him, found your father and trained him to use it just as he had done for other mortals before him. Because of your father’s prior knowledge, the Codebearers enjoyed many victories. But all of that changed one day when your father received a vision that disturbed him. He never told me what it was exactly, but he called it the Day of Doom. From that moment forward he was set against Vogler. When Vogler learned what your father had seen, he intended to kill your father but he failed. Your father escaped, taking the Eye with him. He came to me for protection, and for help in protecting the Eye of Ends.”
Simon moved to my father’s desk where a small leather purse hung from the corner of the chair. He opened the pouch and removed a deep blue cloth that had been folded multiple times. Laying it on the desktop, he began to unfold the cloth, one corner at a time, until it was much larger than I had first imagined. The final corner flipped open to reveal what should have been impossible to fit in that little bag. Hidden magically inside the folded cloth was a polished, black, circular cross-section of petrified wood. It was well over two inches thick and three feet in diameter—far too large to have fit in the leather purse.
The rings rippled out from the center of the ancient wood, where a circular shape that resembled the symbol of the Watchers’ eye stared back at me. This was no ordinary object; this was the Eye of Ends.
I held my breath, astonished to know the relic we had just been discussing had been kept in this room all along. In some ways I was afraid of the Eye, of the power it held, the history it represented. I swallowed hard and shuddered at the sight before looking away.
“Where is Dad now? Is he here? Can I see him?” I asked, anxious to be reunited with my father once more.
Desi and Simon exchanged concerned glances, and this time it was Desi who spoke.
“We…we don’t know where he is anymore. He disappeared over a year ago when he went in search of something he believed could prevent the Day of Doom from becoming a reality. He never returned. We’ve been searching for him ever since, and as you’ve learned, we’re not the only ones.”
Despite the news that my father was missing, I was encouraged by the thought that I was closer to him than I had been since he left. He was out there somewhere.
“Does Vogler know about the Day of Doom too?” I asked.
Simon spoke up again.
“There is no way to be sure, but even if he doesn’t he will still be searching for your father. The Eye of Ends is Vogler’s greatest treasure and he believes your father still has it. One thing is certain, wherever your father is, we must find him before Vogler does. That’s where you come in. We’ve hit a dead-end in our search and honestly, we could use your help.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer,” I said. “It’s like you said, Dad kept the family in the dark about his adventures in Solandria. I haven’t seen him in over three years.”
“I understand,” Simon said, sighing. “Frankly, it’s one of the reasons I have put off contacting you for so long. I had hoped to honor his wishes to keep you in the dark on the matter; however, the situation has changed. Despite your father’s best intentions, Vogler has returned. And he will not hesitate in the least to use your family to get what he wants from your father. I felt it was time to make an exception. You are the only one in your family who has been to Solandria. In some ways, it seems your involvement has been unavoidable, which is what gives me hope that you may indeed know something that even you don’t yet realize.”
“But I wouldn’t know where to start,” I said. “I haven’t got a clue where my father is.”
“Ah, but we do,” Simon said eagerly.
Simon produced a shabby piece of paper that looked like it had been torn in half, yanked straight out of a book.
“We found this in your father’s research,” Simon said, “along with three drawings dated a few days before he disappeared.”
The page was blank except for a couple of random scribblings around the edges. They were nothing more than gibberish. The first note read:
NS LNWZR
NRZX STHYJ
JY HTSXZRNRZW
NLSN
“What does this mean?” I asked, hoping Simon might know.
“Just gibberish, as far as I can tell,” Simon answered. “There aren’t any vowels so it’s not scrambled. That’s about all we could figure out.
“Before he left, your father made three more drawings. They are the only clues we have as to what he was hoping to accomplish on his mission.” Simon passed the pages to me.
I glanced over the images and found the pictures to be very intriguing. The first was not a drawing at all, but rather a series of seemingly meaningless letters jumbled together.
I nodded in agreement and moved to the second drawing. The scenic picture was of a fruit tree, growing near the edge of an unknown Solandrian shard. The image seemed to focus past the tree into the Void beyond it. The skies were an angry swirling storm of clouds where a fleet of incoming Sky Ships approached the land like an aerial navy. The drawing was interesting, but could have been any number of land shards in Solandria. Without more to go on, it would be difficult to tell where it was.
“Before you look at the final image,” Simon added, as I began to shift the pages, “I must warn you that it’s a bit troubling. Despite what it shows, I feel this is the best clue we have to discovering what happened to your father.”
I braced myself for the worst, but nothing could prepare me for what I was about to see. The third drawing was of my father, trapped in the corner of a dungeon cell. In the picture a large shadow loomed over him, a knife raised so that the shadow of it was pointed at my father’s throat. The knife itself appeared in the foreground of the image, but only the very edge of the hand that held the knife was visible in the artwork.
I tried not to tear up, thinking about how hard it must have been for him to draw these pictures...to have seen the end that would come to him.
“I know what you are thinking,” Simon said in a somber tone. “But keep in mind, if this was your father’s final moment, we must focus all our energy on finding the one who killed him. You can bet Vogler is already searching to reunite the Eye with its new master, whoever that may be.”
A long moment of silence passed as I stared at the picture. Slowly my sadness turned to bitterness, then to all-out anger at the one who had taken my father from me. I wanted to find him all right, but I wanted to avenge whatever harm he had done to my dad.
“Count me in,” I said menacingly.
Simon patted me on the shoulder. “Very good,” he said. “I’ll have Desi upload the images of your father’s drawings to the Symbio devices. That way, you can carry them with you no matter where you are.”
Simon folded the Eye back up into the cloth and hid it away again. Then, gathering the pictures, he handed them to Desi. During the transfer, one of the papers slipped out of the pile and fell to the ground. It landed at my feet and I picked it up to hand it to Desi, but the image stopped me dead in my tracks.
It was a picture of my house. In the image, it was late evening and the entire house was covered in hundreds, maybe thousands, of blackbirds. The rooftop and telephone wires that led up to the house were all lined with them as well. But it was the figure walking up to my house that terrified me most. Even from the back, I would recognize the shape of the man anywhere. Black trench coat. Bald head. Broad shoulders. Vogler...and he was carrying a gun. Then I saw something else, something that made the blood drain from my face. In the grass, sitting beside the mailbox, was the smoke detector I had left out overnight in the exact location it appeared in the image. This image was a vision of today.
“I need to go home,” I said anxiously.
“You can’t,” Desi said, sounding almost desperate to keep me. “It’s too dangerous out there. Now that Vogler has seen you with me he’s going to find you and he’s not going to let you go.”
“My family is still out there, and they’re in danger too. I need to get them out of the house, now.”
Simon spoke up with an even voice, “You’d be making a mistake. It’s too late for them; you need to focus on finding your father. That’s the only thing that matters now.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Simon and Desi couldn’t just expect me to stand by and wait while the only family I had left was about to be captured, or worse, by Vogler. There was no telling what he might do to them.
“You’re wrong,” I said, storming out of the room and down the stairs. Desi chased after me. By the time she caught up to me, I was already halfway into the garage. I grabbed a helmet and hopped onto the only Ghost that was still in one piece—the black one.
“Hunter, don’t be silly. You can’t go. You don’t even know how to drive.”
“I’m sure I can figure it out.”
Tweez, who was still busy assembling the white Ghost, looked nervously at me mounting the bike and muttered under his breath. “Oh dear, oh dear, dear.”
“But what about your dad?” Desi asked.
“I’ll be back once I get my family, I promise.”
I managed to start the engine and backed the bike up to the tunnel runway again. Pulling on the throttle, I sped toward the wall just like Desi had, only a little on the slower side just to be careful. When at last I approached the wall of rock, I flipped the switch and disappeared into the train tunnel beyond it.