Crystal Doors #1 (4 page)

Vic yelled something she couldn’t understand. His voice cut off abruptly with a thwacking sound. A moment later Gwen’s head hit something cold and flat and hard, and the only stars she saw were inside her head. They quickly faded to black.

BY THE TIME VIC cleared the cobwebs from his throbbing head, the room had stopped spinning. Incomprehensible shouts filled the air around him, men’s voices in a strange language. Someone was ringing a bell… or maybe it was just his head ringing.

“Ow.” He kept his voice low, since yelling would have hurt too much. Vic found himself lying on something cool and hard — the Spanish-tiled floor of the solarium, he supposed, though he was reluctant to open his eyes. The hard floor felt comfortable and reassuringly solid after the nauseating fall he had experienced.

A strange though not entirely unpleasant odor tickled his nose. He tried to draw a deep breath and coughed. Fire? The smoke from something sweet burning? Had his father’s array
of crystals exploded in the solarium? Vic ordered his eyes to open, but an unaccountable drowsiness held them shut.

What if the house was on fire? Could the shouts be coming from firefighters? What if Gwen and his dad were both unconscious? What if his own drowsiness was a sign of smoke inhalation and asphyxiation? He needed to move. No time to think.

Vic pushed himself to his hands and knees, remembering the warnings from his best friend, Jordan, who volunteered at the local fire station two days a week after school. “Never stand up in a smoke-filled room. Try to stay low.”

Vic finally opened his eyes to scan for Gwen and his father, then blinked several times. The air was indeed filled with smoke, but it was canary yellow, fuchsia, turquoise, tangerine, and emerald. Bright daylight streamed into the room from overhead. Daylight? Could he really have been unconscious for hours?

Coughing again, Vic blinked and crawled forward low to the floor while the shouting continued to hammer at his ears. Just as he spotted Gwen’s sandaled foot, strong hands grabbed him and propelled him away from the smoke. A moment later, Gwen appeared beside him, half carried by a tall, cleanshaven young man with dark brown hair, heavy eyebrows, and deeply tanned skin.

The man holding Vic up had flowing white hair, pink cheeks, and a beard, like a classical painting of Moses — or maybe Santa Claus in a velvet toga. He wore midnight-colored robes flecked with silver. The younger man, dressed in a knee-length tunic, reminded Vic of a bronzed Roman soldier from a gladiator movie.

Vic and Gwen both leaned against the cool marble wall for support.
Marble?
The men held up their hands and said something in a strange language, yet their meaning was clear: Stay here.

The younger man picked up a folded blanket from a basket on the floor and began flailing at the smoke, while the white-bearded man unfurled a parchment-colored scroll and began reading in a stentorian voice.

Gwen called past the two strange men who had apparently rescued them. “Uncle Cap, where are you?” There was no reply. “Taz, what’s going on?” she asked Vic, using his nickname borrowed from the wild cartoon character.

“I don’t know, but I’ll bet I can figure it out.” Suddenly the answer came to him. He chuckled aloud, which set him coughing again from the smoke. “Relax, it’s just a dream. We’ll wake up soon.”

She gave him a withering look.
“You
might dream yourself in a place like this, but I certainly wouldn’t.”

Vic imitated her withering look. “Classic fantasy paradox, nano-brain. I could just be dreaming you.”

“Well, how do they figure it out — in books and movies, I mean? Pinch each other?” Vic responded by punching her in the shoulder. “Hey!” Gwen rubbed her upper arm. “That’s gonna be a bruise. Twit.”

“See? That hurt, but it doesn’t really prove anything. Here’s a better test,” Vic continued almost as if he hadn’t heard her. “Tell me something I don’t know and would never have thought of.”

Gwen nibbled at her lower lip while Moses/Santa droned
on in his strange language. “How about this? ‘Whan that aprill with his shoures soote, The droghte of march hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertu engendred is the flour…’”

Vic shook his head. “Whoa! Now you’re speaking strange languages too?”

“It’s the first few lines from the prologue of
The Canterbury Tales
by Chaucer.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have thought of that. What’s it mean in English?”

“That
was
English, just an older form. Now you tell me something I would never guess.”

“Oh, easy. Jordan has a crush on you.”

Gwen’s mouth opened and shut. A rosy pink flushed her cheeks. “You … you made that up.”

He gave her an eyebrow shrug.
“You
didn’t think of it, did you?”

Just then, the old man’s voice fell silent, and the clouds of multicolored smoke dissipated, giving them a clear view at last. Vic’s jaw dropped as he saw the amazing chamber in which they stood. Definitely not the solarium anymore.

“I couldn’t have dreamed this better myself.” Then he suddenly realized what was missing. “But where’s Dad?”

WITH THE EVIDENCE RIGHT before her eyes, Gwen could not deny that their situation, whatever it was, was real. Impossible, illogical, ridiculous even — but definitely real.

The two strange men stood chattering next to a cluster of charred-looking crystals, very much like the arrangement Dr. Pierce had been building in the solarium before the wild flash of light. On the floor and walls were curved mirrors, angled prisms, and wide distorting lenses like funhouse reflectors.

The room had a vaguely Greek or Roman feel to it, with marble walls, arched doorways, open windows, and support columns flanking an entryway. At one end of the oval room a spiral staircase corkscrewed up toward the ceiling.
Where are
we? A year ago, Uncle Cap had taken Gwen and Vic on a private tour of the Getty Museum in Malibu, which was laid out like a Roman villa. But she couldn’t recall any rooms quite like this.

Scanning the broad oval chamber, Gwen saw shelves full of stoppered vials, racks crammed with thick scrolls, and a long table on trestles that was cluttered with parchments, glowing crystals, more mirrors and lenses, chunks of scrap metal, a variety of unrecognizable implements, and blown-glass beakers filled with colorful fluids. Enormous aquariums built into the curved wall contained colorful fish, peculiar shell creatures, and glowing eels.

“Looks like some sort of secret clubhouse for mad scientists,” Vic said.

“Or a medieval alchemist’s laboratory. How did we get here?” She rubbed her temple where she had struck her head on the hard floor. Where could she have fallen from? She and Vic had been walking across the solarium floor. “Do we have amnesia?”

Running a hand through his messy brown hair, he gave her one of those don’t-be-ridiculous looks. “Huh. I don’t remember getting amnesia.”

“Very funny.” Gwen thought this over for a moment. “But we got up in the middle of the night. Now it’s broad daylight. We’ve obviously missed something in between. How can we be sure that it’s only been a few hours, instead of days?”

“First of all, if it was that long since I ate, my stomach would be rumbling like a 6.9 earthquake by now. And remember at Ocean Kingdoms when you were taking forever to pick out your sweatshirt? I kept scratching at a mosquito bite, and they gave me a bandage.”

“Right,” she said, “a kiddy bandage with a little octopus on it.”

Vic pointed to his arm. “Same spot, same bandage.” He peeled the strip away, and the mosquito bite beneath it was still large and raw. “See? It’s barely started to heal.”

“Okay, then, what’s your theory, Einstein?” Gwen was irritated at his logic but more bothered that she hadn’t figured it out for herself.

Their two strange benefactors stood before them again. The bearded man touched a finger to his temple, to the center of his chest, then held out his flat-palmed hand and waited expectantly. The dark-haired young man made the same gesture, holding his hand palm-side down and parallel to the floor between himself and Vic. The strangers said something in unison that Gwen assumed must be a greeting.

“What do you think we should do?” she asked Vic.

“Maybe it’s a secret handshake.”

Gwen glanced at the older man’s hand, which did look as if it were outstretched for a handshake. “Sure, why not?” With a bright smile to demonstrate her friendliness, she clasped the bearded man’s hand and shook it briefly. “Nice to meet you.”

Likewise, Vic grabbed the younger man’s hand and pumped it twice before letting go. “And we have no idea what language you’re speaking. You can’t understand a word we’re saying, can you?”

Moses/Santa frowned, then whispered to the younger man, who left the room. Motioning for the cousins to stay with him, the older man spoke in a ridiculously slow voice, as if that would make him more comprehensible.

Gwen sensed the man’s growing frustration. “I’m Gwen and this is my cousin Vic. We’re from America.”

“We may need a translator. Habla usted Espanol?”

The white-bearded man looked back at Vic with apparent interest but no understanding.

“Urn, parlez-vous francais?” Gwen added.

“Er, uh — Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” Still no response.

“Right. Definitely going to need a translator.” Gwen looked about the room, hoping for some inspiration.

Just then the handsome dark-haired man returned with a petite, elfin young woman who looked about Vic and Gwen’s age. The girl wore a creamy long gown that draped over one shoulder and flowed down her petite body in elegant folds and ripples like a toga. Curly copper hair fell past her waist. The girl touched a finger to her own temple, to the center of her chest, and held her hand out just as the two men had. Next, the elfin girl touched the fingers of her left hand to the center of Gwen’s forehead. Her name was Lyssandra.

Gwen jerked backward, losing contact. “Hey! You speak English!”

Vic looked at his cousin strangely. “Why do you think that?”

Gwen was exasperated. “Duh? Just now she told us her name is Lyssandra.”

Vic looked even more confused. “But she didn’t say a word.” He glanced at the copper-haired girl. “Is Gwen right? Is your name Lyssandra?”

The girl nodded and pointed to herself. “Lyssandra.”

Vic’s aquamarine eyes lit with understanding. “Did you
hear
her say something when she was touching your head?”

Gwen thought about it. “Well, no. Not words, exactly, but—”

“Cool! She’s telepathic.” Vic grabbed Lyssandra’s hand and placed it against his own forehead. A delighted smile spread across his face, and he laughed out loud.

Gwen stared. Was the girl really telepathic? That was impossible. Maybe she should reconsider the theory that this was all a dream — albeit the most vivid one she’d ever had.

Still, her cousin’s delighted expression did not go away. Lyssandra’s hand dropped from Vic’s forehead, and he grabbed Gwen’s arm, speaking excitedly. Now she couldn’t understand what
he
was saying until Lyssandra touched her forehead again, and suddenly Vic’s words made sense.

“— an interpreter and a telepath. If you’ll just stop squirming, Lyssandra can prep your mind so that you can understand the language! Sheesh, and you call
me
Mr. Attention Deficit Disorder!”

Amazed, Gwen felt a shifting and repositioning of thoughts in her brain. Lyssandra spoke aloud. “I am preparing your mind to understand Elantyan, our common language. Because this island is the connecting point for many worlds, our ancestors created a language with simple rules to make it easier for people from all cultures to learn.”

Gwen grasped each word clearly now, but the sentence still made no sense. Something about an island? Many worlds?

Finished, Lyssandra let her hand drop to her side, and she stepped away from Gwen. “Can you understand me now?”

“Sure. Does that mean that I’m —”

“Speaking Elantyan? Of course you are. I gave the translation center in your brain the basic rules and vocabulary of our speech. It will automatically translate our language into terms
you can understand. While you remain here on our island of Elantya, your mind will convert your speech to our words — though the concepts may still be foreign. I myself speak eleven tongues fluently, and Elantyan is by far the simplest. It is also the easiest to communicate to another mind. It would take weeks or months to teach you another language in the same fashion.”

“Cool,” Vic said.

Lyssandra smiled. “In our world, your names would be Viccus and Gwenya. May I call you that?”

“Where exactly are we?” Gwen asked. Something just wasn’t making sense. “What is this place?”

“Such discussions can wait,” the bearded man broke in. “I am Sage Rubicas, and this is my apprentice Orpheon.” He gestured to the swarthy-skinned young man. “Hmm, now that you can communicate, please tell us how you came to be here. It is most intriguing.”

“Uh, we were kind of hoping you could tell us that.” Vic scratched his nose. “We don’t have a clue.”

Orpheon crossed his arms, and his heavy eyebrows drew together. “Did someone unlock the crystal door for you, or did you find the door open?”