Secret of Light

S
ECRET
OF
L
IGHT

For Peter,
swordsman,
construction expert,
and appreciative listener.

kc dyer

Copyright © kc dyer, 2003

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from the Access Copyright.

Editor: Barry Jowett
Copy-Editor: Jennifer Bergeron
Design: Jennifer Scott
Printer: Transcontinental

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Dyer, K. C.
    Secret of light / K.C. Dyer.

ISBN 1-55002-477-9

I. Title.

PS8557.Y474S38 2003          jC813'.6            C2003-904049-6

1       2       3       4       5            07       06       05       04       03

We acknowledge the support of the
Canada Council for the Arts
and the
Ontario Arts Council
for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the
Government of Canada
through the
Book Publishing Industry Development Program
and
The Association for the Export of Canadian Books
, and the
Government of Ontario
through the
Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit
program, and the
Ontario Media Development Corporation's Ontario Book Initiative.

Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credit in subsequent editions.

J. Kirk Howard
,
President

Printed and bound in Canada.
Printed on recycled paper.

www.dundurn.com

Dundurn Press
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Toronto, Ontario, Canada
M5E 1M6

Dundurn Press
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Tonawanda NY
U.S.A. 14150

I humbly offer my most grateful and heartfelt thanks to all the people who have held my hand, literally, figuratively, and electronically, as I have stumbled down the road toward the writing of this book. On this journey to my wildest dreams, I could ask for no greater company.

Thanks to ...

... my friends and family for enthusiasm, emotional sustenance, and a total willingness to engage in lengthy discussions about what they are reading this week. Special thanks to the leaders of my Lions Bay and Calgary cheering sections: Linda, Ingrid, Sue, Kelly, Meaghan, Audrey, and Lisa.

... my gracious and generous editor Barry Jowett, and also to the keen-eyed Jennifer Bergeron and Andrea Pruss.

... Jennifer Scott for yet again weaving her magic to create the consummate cover.

... Kirk Howard for his support and encouragement.

... la mia amica Federica Padovani, per la sua assistenza in tradurre la mia storia, ogni sbagli che io ho fatto sono solamante miei. Grazie.

... the members of the Compuserve Writers' Forum for the on-line camaraderie and seemingly unending source of invaluable arcana.

... my writing compatriots: Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch, Pamela Capriotti Martin, Kate Coombs, Linda Gerber, Julie Kentner, Bernice Lever, Moira Thompson, and the other denizens of the North Shore Writers' Association and KidCrit for their sharp eyes, unflagging support, and good humour.

... the incomparable Diana Gabaldon for her kind words, deeds, and inspiration.

... my readers, with whom I share a priceless bond: the love of a good story.

September brings school and best friends return,

But an enemy, too, shows his face.

A fresh goal for the term means a Fair and hard work,

Classes new, yet an odd sense of place.

To remember old times, a trip through a cave,

No glyphs but a sketch, bright and true.

Ancient light cannot shine, yet it summons and calls,

A wind rises, the past beckons anew.

Among Renaissance lands, a new day is drawn,

Rebirth in the Arts, all rejoice.

Possibility raised; a prediction unheard,

A hasty retreat not by choice.

Thrust out of time, a return must be made,

Obsessions squeeze tight as a fist.

A seeker is lost, a couple is joined,

A dog disappears in the mist.

A soldier, an artist, a sculptor, a friend,

Can one man hold the key to all time?

Traveller as thief; is the prize all it seems?

Does an enemy witness the crime?

Study intense, friends ignored, school work shunned,

Yet the answer remains beyond reach.

Long dark night of despair, in the end all that's gleaned,

Is a lesson just friendship can teach.

A Renaissance Fair marks the end of a year;

But words from a wise woman warn.

An unwelcome traveller, a poignant goodbye,

Old worries anew must be borne.

Kidnap, frantic search, and a dash through the dark,

A dome and a monk and a clock.

A final betrayal, a fire explodes,

Inferno consumes all but rock.

The beacon is ash, route through time seared away,

Hope for peace, winter break is in sight.

Yet reflection brings pain, for how high was the cost

To unravel the Secret of Light?

Darrell sat propped, comfortable against warm rocks. Leaning her head against a boulder, she gazed at the fine, blue sea with eyes closed to a slit against the setting sun. Delaney stirred under her hand and nestled into a more comfortable spot on the sand. He lay at her side, head on his paws, eyes watchful.

From this angle, Darrell could turn her head and just see one corner of Eagle Glen School's north tower. Constructed of grey granite, the tower looked as though it were standing guard over the rugged coastline. She craned her neck to see more of the tower, her mind filled with speculation. A whole school year here at Eagle Glen! There was a lot she wanted to learn, and not much of it was academic.

Delaney raised his head and Darrell shifted her focus. Two figures emerged from the winding path leading down from the cliffs. One of the figures waved
and they began to run. Darrell's heart lifted. “Good spotting, Delaney,” she said, and ruffled the dog's fur. “It's about time those two got here.”

Darrell glanced down at the sketchbook in her lap. The wind rippled the pages, and a few grains of sand skittered through to settle in the binding. Each page held a sketch or a drawing depicting a young girl with brown hair engaged in various activities: swimming, running, riding a bike. The girl in the sketches differed from the artist who drew them by only a single element. She had two sound legs.

In seconds, a girl with short, red hair standing up in spikes off her freckled forehead collapsed breathless on the sand. Puffing behind her, a tall boy with almond eyes was carrying a heavy backpack.

“You only won because I was lugging this,” he said, grinning.

“Ha!” The girl struggled to speak, still panting heavily. “It's just my — superior physical — conditioning.”

Darrell laughed, her melancholy mood forgotten. “I'm glad to see you guys. You need to take it easy on Brodie, Kate. He's not as young as he used to be.”

Brodie Sun nodded. “Yup. My birthday was last week. Got a whole set of new tap hammers for fossils.”

Kate Clancy rolled her eyes. “More stuff to weigh down your backpack.”

Darrell beamed at her friends, now settled in comfort on the sand. “What've you got there, Brodie? Some of your birthday presents?”

Brodie flashed a guilty grin. “Oh, you know, just some stuff...”

“Stuff for looking at cave walls, maybe?” interjected Kate.

“Maybe. It's getting a bit late today, though. And we've got our orientation session tonight...” His voice trailed off, the longing in it palpable.

Kate laughed. “Brodie, you are so predictable. Once a fossil geek, always a fossil geek.”

Brodie pulled the pack across the sand, leaving a deep track. “You're just mad you don't have your laptop with you,” he teased. “Or have you given up computer programming in the past month?”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Actually, you guys will be proud of me. I spent the last two weeks at the studio near my house, practising tae kwon do. I'm going to try for my fourth-degree black belt when I go home for the holidays.”

“Man!” Brodie shook his head in mock consternation. “Two weeks away from your computer? You must have been in agony.”

Delaney rolled over and set his paw on Brodie's hand. “How you doin', Delaney boy?” Brodie ruffled the dog's fur and scratched behind his ears. “Look at this guy, Kate. He doesn't look too much like a stray anymore.”

Kate smiled and buried her face in the dog's ruff. “Nope. Looks like he's been living the good life lately.” She ran her hand along his side. “I can hardly feel his ribs, Darrell. What've you been feeding this boy?”

Darrell leaned forward indignantly. “He is
not
fat. He's just happy to have a real home now, that's all!”

Kate laughed and punched Brodie's backpack into an uncomfortable-looking pillow. “Yeah. I guess his log
house is gone for good.” She lay down and gazed across the sand to the spot where the hollow log had once rested on the beach. “Must've been quite a storm to pull that giant old tree out to sea.”

“He doesn't need it anymore, anyway. Professor Tooth gave me permission to keep him in my room.”

Kate followed Darrell's glance toward the school. “Feels good to be back, eh?”