The Book of Sight

Copyright @ 2011 Deborah Dunlevy

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2013

Digital Edition ISBN: 978-0-9847624-2-2

Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-9847624-3-9

Madison House Publishing

www.MadisonHousePublishing.com

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the web-address above, or call 317-797-9993.

www.TheBookOfSight.com

I
n a plain house on a dull street in a nondescript neighborhood in a sleepy town near the mountains lived an ordinary girl named Alex. Ironically, Alex, whose full name was Alexandra Jilian Hughes, was named for the famous Greek conqueror Alexander the Great. This was ironic because, while Alexander the Great was renowned for his brilliant strategic mind and charismatic leadership, Alex Hughes was not renowned for anything. She was, as far as she or anyone else could tell, a perfectly average teenage girl. Average grades, average talents, average pastimes. She even looked unremarkable: brown hair, green eyes and nothing in her features that would make her stand out from any other 14-year-old.

All in all, it was the most probable thing in the world that Alexandra Hughes would live a long and thoroughly uninteresting life.

So much for probability.

One unassuming morning, the first day of summer vacation, Alex woke up earlier than she wanted to. Apparently no one had informed her body that it could now sleep until noon. She stayed in bed for a little while, but she knew she wasn’t going to drift off again, and since nothing is more depressing than being in bed only wishing you could sleep, she got up.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she poured herself a bowl of cereal and shook her head at the untouched plate of dinner sitting on the table. Apparently her dad had forgotten about eating again. She poured a second bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice and headed out the back door, balancing both bowls in one hand. The studio door had fortunately been left unlatched, so she pushed it open with her foot.

“Hey, Dad, I brought you some breakfast.”

He gave a little jump and looked up confusedly. “Is it breakfast time already?”

“Yeah…well, it’s morning at least. It may be more like dinner time for you. Did you work all night?”

He had already turned back to his drawing table. “Hmm? Oh…no, I slept on the couch out here for a few hours…there…sorry, I just wanted to finish that frame.” He took the bowl of cereal. “Thanks, sweetie. What would I be without you?”

“Pretty hungry, probably. I noticed you never touched your dinner.”

“Oh, yeah,’ he said, as if just now realizing it. “I’m sorry. You worked hard on that. I just got on a roll and, you know, the time got away from me. I’m really close to finishing this one.”

“It’s okay,” laughed Alex. “I didn’t spend too much time on it.” She didn’t bother telling him that it was only a frozen TV dinner. She knew better than to waste much effort on meals when her dad was trying to finish a project. “You can make it up to me by eating your cereal, so I know you’ll at least have one meal today.”

They crunched in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“So what are you up to today?” he asked after the last spoonful.

“I don’t know. Probably not much.”

“Oh, hey, that’s right. This is your summer break now.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s a huge pile of dishes in there and the house is probably a mess, but don’t you start cleaning today. This is your vacation. Do something fun. With any luck, I’ll be done with this one in another day or two and then I’ll take care of the house.”

“You’re that close?” asked Alex, looking over his shoulder at the pages of comic book pictures spread out on the table. “Can I see what you have so far?”

“Sure, most of them are in that stack right there. Help yourself.”

She could tell from his voice that his mind had already turned back to his work. Alex cleared a spot on the couch and started in on the latest edition of
The Mist
, the moderately successful comic book her dad wrote and illustrated. She’d always loved reading her dad’s work. His main character, a normal father and husband who gained the ability to turn himself into a vapor after an accident at a nuclear plant, had the perfect comeback and the perfect homemade weapon for every situation.

Reaching the end with a chuckle, she stretched and stood up, beginning to gather up the assortment of coffee cups and plates of half eaten food.

Her dad glanced up for a moment. “Promise me you won’t spend the day working. I mean it, Magna.”

Alex smiled. Alexandra Magna had been his pet name for her as long as she could remember, a reference to her namesake.

“I promise,” said Alex, but he was already back to his drawing, and she wasn’t sure if he heard her or not.

Adding the dishes to the precarious stack in the sink, Alex began to weigh her options for the day. There weren’t too many. Dunmore wasn’t exactly a great metropolis. The only real entertainment available to a 14-year-old was the dollar theater, and she’d already seen the movie that was showing there. Darcy, her best friend and the only person she would normally call, was leaving that afternoon for California, where she was spending the summer with her dad. She’d read every book in the house at least five times, and there wouldn’t be anything on TV but cartoons at this time of day. Alex looked around at the crazy mess and began to wish she hadn’t just promised not to the clean the house. She hoped this wasn’t what the whole summer was going to be like.

There was a knock on the door.

On the porch was a rather unkempt looking man, a total stranger, and as contradictory as he was strange. The shiny leather satchel he carried stood out against his worn jeans and threadbare corduroy coat. His face was too weather-beaten for someone so obviously young, and though he had the tousled and dirty hair of a fierce lion, his brown eyes were warm and his look was kind.

Most people might have found him an alarming sight, but Alex was not fazed at all. She figured he was one of Dad’s illustrator friends. The knock gave them away, when any normal person would have used the doorbell. They didn’t come to the house too often, but they were usually too lost in their own worlds to notice the little button by the door. One time one of them had showed up in a snowstorm wearing only shorts and a t-shirt. He hadn’t even seemed to feel the cold. This one fit the bill exactly.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Are you Alex Hughes?” asked the man.

“Yes.”

“I have a package for you.”

That did take Alex by surprise. “For me?”

He held up a smallish rectangular package, wrapped in plain brown paper. Sure enough, there was her name printed neatly on the front. She started to reach for it, and then stopped.

“Are you a UPS guy?” He didn’t look like a UPS guy.

“No, I’m… with a private delivery service.” Noticing that she still hesitated, he smiled, a bright flash that changed his whole appearance. “Don’t worry, it won’t explode. It’s a book.”

Alex took the package. It was obvious from the feel that it was, in fact, a book, and a heavy one at that. She turned it over. There was no return address. “Do you know who it’s from?”

“It should say inside.”

“Do I need to sign or anything?”

“No, that’s not necessary,” the man smiled again. “Have a nice day…and enjoy your book.”

Closing the door, Alex ripped off the brown wrapper and stared with surprise at the book in her hand. It was thick and appeared to be incredibly old. The red leather cover was faded and water-stained, and the pages were slightly yellow.

Who would send her an antique book? She checked the wrapper for a note, but there was none. She turned the book over and checked the inside cover. No writing. No indication at all of who it was from.

Sinking into the armchair in the living room, she started to read. And then she stopped.

It was complete nonsense. The words literally did not make sense, weren’t even words. If it was another language, it was one she couldn’t remotely recognize. This line, now: “Humtel slarmed alto the viristren.” What on earth was that? It must have been sent to her by mistake. Alex tossed the book on the table.

She picked it up again. After all, the man had known her name. She carefully searched the wrapper again. Nothing. She flipped through the pages. Nothing but nonsense, or some mystery language, all the way through. It had to be a mistake.

But somehow she couldn’t just put it aside. It was a mystery. There must be something she was missing. Anyway, what else was she going to do with her morning? She flipped back to the first page and tried again to read.

And that was it. It really was the strangest thing. She
could
understand it. Not that the words made any more sense, but as she read them, images formed themselves in her mind. It was a story…the most beautiful story Alex had ever read. As it unfolded before her inner eye, she forgot all about the strange nonsense words and got lost in another world…

The king hurries down the stone steps, fear perched like a bird of prey with its claws imbedded in his heart…every heartbeat is an echo of the refrain, the jewel, the jewel, the jewel, the jewel, he must protect the jewel…a flash of yellow light, a triumphant face, a sinking despair…

a boy, too young and too skinny…everything he sees impresses the boy more and more with his own awkwardness and inadequacy…

the king slumps next to the fountain, gray and deflated, like a once proud flag hanging limp and dull, muttering over and over, it is gone, all is lost, it is gone, all is lost…

a pity so deep it touches subterranean levels of courage is born in the boy’s heart, he must, he will find a way to ease the king’s suffering…

a whisper, so fragile it might be leaves in the wind, the jewel, the jewel, the heart of the kingdom, it is lost, how can it be restored? it cannot, it cannot…

it can, it must, we will, we can…

what light flickers in the king’s eyes...the prophecy rings out (where did the strength come from for such clear tones?) while the circle remains unbroken none shall enter there…gendel sea, gendel sea…

a thrill of recognition as three young men enter the garden in search of their brother…

Alex came to herself with a gasp. Her heart was pounding in time with the boy’s, the words of the prophecy rang in her ears, and the smell of the fading garden was all around her. The shock of finding herself sitting in her own living room left her dazed for a moment. Her stomach growled as if it had been hours since she ate breakfast, but the pull of the book was much stronger than the pull of hunger.

…a journey of brothers begun in blazing expectation covered with humble cloaks…

a kingdom undone, a people in desolation…pigs eating in the hall of a once beautiful home…a child cradling her mother’s head, dry-eyed and mute with despair…a putrid stream, a foul stench, dry dust on the tongue…a man with a gap-toothed smile selling rotten fruit…

high spirits have long flown, slowly replaced by a steely resolve…

the imposing ramparts of the black castle loom above, dwarfing the four brothers and shrinking their hearts…cold, cold, icy claws penetrating deep into the bones…the stone passage opens like a dark hungry mouth…

a slender bridge over a yawning chasm...impossible, impassible, a breathtaking, hollow stomach frozenness…inch by inch, certainty of death foremost in his mind, not daring to breath…

a brothers hand, strong and reassuring, steady, steady…

the rush of relief swallowed up in cold…cold, cold, icy breath penetrates everything…mind numb, limbs wooden, stumbling, stumbling…huddled together for warmth, hope wanes…

a small light, purple and distant and alive…

the jewel! the jewel!…the sold warmth in his hand radiates throughout his body…the brothers faces glow, each reflecting the others’ radiance…

hurrying along, stumbling again, stumbling but this time with eager joy…relief, freedom, out the black arch and into the free air, gasping, laughing, running…