David Rose and the Forbidden Tournament: David Rose, #2

Chapter 1 – Between Worlds

THE CEMETERY GATES LOOMED LIKE SENTINELS as they approached, but David Rose retained scant faith in the barriers between worlds. He strode through the entrance with Rachel struggling to keep pace, her little hand gripping his. Their father believed them to be at Robert’s, which, in fact, they had been. He would not approve of their current destination, particularly Rachel’s inclusion in the matter. Behind them, a low whirring played over the pavement. David didn’t look back, knowing it was Chester in his wheelchair, accompanied by Robert and Amanda. They were the only ones David had told, the only ones he planned to tell.

That meant their worlds had changed forever, too.

It grew darker as they went, the pale illumination of the occasional lamppost fading like a flare at sea. Roughly a quarter mile in, the road terminated in a circle. David waited for his friends to catch up.

He eyed Amanda. Here?

She nodded and looked around. She’ll be here.

She was Audrey DaMone, Amanda’s friend and their grade’s resident Goth chick—familiar, Amanda maintained, with the ways of the occult. David didn’t know Audrey well, but she seemed cool enough—different, but cool. And who was he to talk about different? High school had no shortage of cliques, and being different was often your ticket to being ostracized. The cool kids were typically the ones doing the ostracizing, but Amanda was unlike most of the cool kids. She was kind to everyone, regardless of their classification along the continuum of high school stereotypes.

Amanda’s left hand flashed blue. She looked at her phone, pressed some buttons, then slid it into her back pocket. She’s in the mausoleum.

Chester shut off his wheelchair. On foot from here, then, he said, and then, with a hint of admonition, cenotaph.

What’s that? Robert asked, helping Chester up. A creature from Greek mythology?

In fact, no, Chester replied. She said mausoleum, referring, naturally, to the Langston monument. But despite conventional wisdom, its being an empty grave makes it, by definition, a cenotaph.

Amanda smiled, clearly unaffronted. Even on a late-night graveyard excursion, Chester was still, inimitably, Chester.

Robert withdrew the cane from the customized sheath at the rear of the wheelchair and handed it to their friend.

Thanks, Chester said, before turning to David. For the record, I oppose this course of action. There are serious matters to which we must attend.

David peered into the blackness. Duly noted.

I think it’s up ahead. Amanda beckoned.

David remembered spotting the large tomb months ago when he’d been there with Marcel. The three Langston brothers had perished on an aircraft carrier in World War II, the type of tragedy which ultimately fueled changes to the rules of engagement concerning deployment of family members. Their bodies were never recovered and so the mausoleum—cenotaph—sat empty, a tribute to a family’s sacrifice. David wasn’t certain why Audrey had chosen this spot, but other matters pressed in on him. He needed to know the significance of the mirror, and Amanda believed her friend might be able to help.

Come on, he said.

Robert gestured at the wheelchair. Okay to leave it?

It would, Chester replied, be an audacious getaway.

It was dark, the terrain uneven in spots, and Robert walked alongside Chester.

Amanda caught up to David and Rachel, who grabbed her hand with her free one.

David turned the mirror over in his hand as they went. Marcel had pressed it into his palm that last time he’d seen him, on the moors at Kane Manor—small, compact, circular, about the size of a drink coaster. It closed like a locket, and David had not even thought to open it until the flight home, and when he did, there had been a note inside.

Many, yet one.

Naturally, he had questions, but Marcel was not there to ask, nor did David know how to reach him. Marcel had assured him he would be in touch, but that it was better for now—safer—for them to let the path between them grow cold. An unsettling notion, but David trusted him implicitly.

The mirror appeared pedestrian at first, but upon closer inspection, its faded exterior suggested something else entirely. It didn’t just look old; it looked ancient, the kind of ancient that froze you in your tracks because history seemed to be whispering to you. He remembered when he was young—maybe Rachel’s age—his parents taking him to see an exhibit of the Dead Sea Scrolls. They tried to explain what it was, and he’d understood—not their words, really, but the gravity of the thing. Felt it. It was the same with the mirror. If only Marcel had taken one moment more to tell him what he was supposed to do with it.

There was something else, something so fleeting that he wouldn’t have thought twice of it, had life been anything other than it had been in the last year. He’d snapped the mirror shut on the flight, but just as he did, he’d detected something in the small, round glass.

Someone.

Not him.

He’d flipped it back open, but it was only him looking back, and it hadn’t happened since.

I see a light. Rachel squeezed his hand again and pointed.

That’s it, David said. He waited for the others, then proceeded toward the faint glow. He brushed against tombstones twice as he walked, feeling on each occasion as though he should apologize. As they neared the tomb, the hazy illumination grew brighter, conforming to the shape of the structure. When they reached it, David paused, his hand on the cold, stone door.

Rachel tugged at his hand and whispered, Are the ghosts awake?

No ghosts, he said, and immediately something knotted inside him, the way it always did when he knew he may have made a promise he could not keep. He pushed open the heavy, creaking door.

One unfamiliar with Audrey DaMone might have at first believed they’d indeed seen a ghost. She was pale, strikingly so, and her long, black hair accentuated the effect. Her olive eyes gleamed in the glow from the ring of candles she’d assembled.

Come in, she said, and they did. Please shut the door.

Robert was last to step inside, following Chester. He shut the door behind him.

Rachel was the only one who didn’t need to crouch. Audrey sat at the far end of the structure, cross-legged, and gestured for them to sit. Rachel scrambled onto her brother’s lap; Amanda sat to their right. Opposite them, Robert helped Chester lower to the ground, then sat beside him. The candles encircled an inscribed monument to the Langston brothers. The small flames danced, throwing new shadows upon the walls.

Audrey turned to David. Did you bring it?

He handed her the mirror.

She didn’t open it, but stared at its exterior, rolling it from one side to the other. The candlelight shifted again, glinting off a small ring that intersected Audrey’s lower lip.

Rachel pointed. Does that hurt?

Rachel, David said.

Oh, she’s fine, Audrey assured him. She smiled at Rachel. Not a bit. She returned her attention to the mirror, and finally opened it. She gasped as the candles shuddered and swooned. Where did you get this?

A friend, David replied. It’s all I can tell you.

If I am to divine the secrets of such a thing, I need to know more.

Before David could reply, Chester spoke up. No offense meant, but what are your credentials for divining such things?

I have studied them, Audrey said. The occult. Dark magic. Ancient cultures.

Fair enough, said Chester. But what makes you so sure this object has anything to do with any of that?

Audrey straightened. I didn’t say I was sure. Maybe you will just have to go on faith. She addressed David. It would help matters if you could tell me a bit more.

I’m sorry, David said. I can’t. Maybe you’ll just have to go on faith, too.

Audrey regarded him a moment, then the mirror. It holds secrets, and quite possibly more than that. I feel it. I am not just saying that—it’s not like I have anything at stake. I’m just telling you what I believe. I feel something, but when I look into this glass, I see only myself. This object was not intended for me. She looked at David as intently as she had the item he’d handed her. But you saw something else, didn’t you? You must have.

David inhaled. Yes.

Audrey nodded. Jing.

Excuse me?

Magic mirror, Chester interjected. According to the Chinese Daoists.

Yes, Audrey said. Magic mirrors, also called divination mirrors. The Daoists believed them to be a gateway to the spiritual worlds. The circular shape represents the infinite and connecting nature of the universe. They were used for many things—understanding the past, predicting the future, even exorcisms. A worried look crept over her face. It’s not for that, is it?

David shrugged. I really hope not.

Rachel nestled her head against his chest, and Amanda softly stroked her hair.

Audrey closed the mirror, clasped it between her hands and spoke in a low voice. If that is what this is, then it’s something very powerful, not only in what it reveals, but in how it may be used by one who possesses it.

Robert raised an eyebrow. Used?

Some believe he who is pure in spirit may call upon the forces of nature, of Heaven and Earth, in moments of need.

Your knowledge is impressive, Chester said. But as you alluded to earlier, much of this is constructed on faith. You are, as far as I am aware, correct in that which you presented, but it still comes down to notions of magic, and supernatural things—unprovable things.

Not necessarily. Audrey touched David’s arm. Do you want to try?

David looked down at Rachel. The advancing hour and Amanda’s touch had lulled her. He extended his hand to Audrey, and she gave him the locket. For a moment, she closed her hand around his.

Remember, she said. It took considerable time and practice to achieve mastery of the mirror. Its power derives from all forms of energy—living and passed on, earthy and spiritual. Opening the gates between worlds is no easy matter, and closing them may be harder yet. I have no way of knowing what or whom you’re summoning, or if they’ll come, or if something else might.

Something else?

Audrey cast a quick glance at Rachel.

David still wasn’t sure how much of any of this he believed, but Audrey clearly felt they stood a greater chance of discovering the mirror’s secrets here, in the graveyard. Now, she was warning him that this place just might conjure more than they bargained for.

Spirits? he mouthed.

Audrey nodded. Maybe. A place of purgatory, perhaps.

Purgatory. All David remembered was it was related to notions of the afterlife, and something told him not in a good way. If spirits roamed these hallowed grounds—here, now—that meant they weren’t, of course, in Heaven. And if they weren’t in Heaven, then.... He looked at Audrey, unsure because of Rachel how to best phrase his question, but Audrey read his eyes.

Purgatory is not what most people think, she said. Most people, for whatever reason, think it is a version of—well, you know. It’s not. It’s a place for souls destined for Heaven, but which haven’t made it yet. Their lives on Earth were not quite good enough for eternal grace so they wait—a terrible limbo, waiting for their time, waiting for the light.

David drew a deep breath and then exhaled. The candlelight danced. And what do you think? he asked her.

Audrey managed a faint smile. I really don’t know. I just want you to be sure, before you try.

"Thank you, but I know what I saw before, and I think I know who. I think he’ll come again." He drew another breath, slowly exhaled, and opened the locket.

Only him, and nothing else, but it was the worst sort of nothing, the sort you knew wouldn’t last long.

Rachel shifted in her brother’s lap, her eyes fluttering open and growing rapt.

It was still just David in the mirror, and the gray nothingness around him, but now the nothingness was deepening, turning upon itself, like an ancient voice seeking articulation. The candles swayed again, the flames cowering, and the tomb grew cold on this warm summer night. Rachel’s fingertips dug into her brother’s arms as a loud whoosh sounded, and the candles went out. For a moment, sheer blackness.... Things were always darkest where the light had just been.

David.... Rachel buried her head in his chest, and he held her tightly.

Robert, if you please, Chester said. Some shuffling and grunting ensued as Robert helped Chester to his feet. A moment later, a slender prism of light pierced the gloom. Chester had switched on his phone’s flashlight, and he directed it toward the ground, away from direct contact with anyone’s eyes.

Robert shoved the door open, and helped Chester extricate himself from the structure. Amanda stepped out next, followed by David and Rachel, and finally Audrey, who had hurriedly scooped up her candlesticks and placed them in the small crate in which she’d brought them.

Carry me, Rachel told David.

They proceeded slowly, Chester lighting the way with his phone. Audrey and Amanda walked alongside each other, the candlesticks clanking in dull rhythm with every step.

Rachel’s face sat inches from David’s, and when he glanced in her eyes, they were wide and bearing an expression he wasn’t certain he’d ever seen.

He stopped in his tracks, his own eyes widening. Something had buzzed him, touched him, or at least come close enough to create a sharp, chilled gust. He could see in the eyes of his sister she’d felt it too.

Amanda nudged Audrey, and said, Wait. She then turned back to David. Are you okay?

Robert and Chester stopped and looked back too.

At that moment, the strangest of impulses rushed over him: he must put his sister away from him. From the moment things had started falling apart, slipping away, his instinct had been to pull her closer, to protect her at all costs, but whatever was setting upon them now was—surely—after him. This was his burden to bear, not Rachel’s or anyone else’s, and while he might not prevail in whatever this fight really was, damn if he would let Rachel be harmed in the crossfire. He set her down and backed away, then held up his hands to deter her as she cried out and began to scamper back to him.

Rachel!

She stopped at the sharpness in her brother’s voice.

Rachel. Softer now. Stand back, okay. It’ll be safer. He backed farther away, each step clawing at his conscience, searing into him.

The others had stopped as well, watching with incredulity the events unfolding before them.

No one move! David called. They’re after me. He braced for the next assault from... whatever they were. He tensed, but the next rush never came, and in that awful sliver of time when one realizes he’s made the gravest of errors, David understood why.

He prepared to spring forward but paused. He’d learned things were all too often not what they seemed, but as his mind attempted to register what was transpiring before them, like one of those rapid-turning flipbooks, he’d no idea how things seemed, no frame of reference against which to even hazard a comparison. This was something else entirely, something that defied somethingness, and so he stopped, hoping down to his bones that in so doing, he would not be failing Rachel yet again. Still, he had to be sure.

Those diving, darting bits of luminescence that had pursued them now encircled his sister, having slowed ever slightly, and they coalesced like a halo above her. David shielded his face as he attempted to make eye contact with Rachel—it was not that the hovering ring was emanating light, but rather was light, of a sort David had never seen. Whatever it was, it had issued forth from the darkened depths of the cemetery, a macabre yet entrancing reanimation. His eyes adjusted and locked with his sister’s, and he was surprised to see the calm—and something more than that—pooling within.

The ring began to descend over her, and David shot forward but was instantly repelled, as though by an electrified fence. He stumbled to the ground, his skin pricking with an unearthly voltage, more incapacitating than painful.

David! Amanda rushed to his side and helped him up.

As he straightened, he realized the shimmering sphere was regarding him. Even in a world where the impossible had become probable, this seemed unfathomable, but as he stared, the ring was shifting, transforming, devolving away from what moments before had been the incandescent sum of its parts.

The it became they—faces, spirits, ghosts—and they beheld him with eyes that could not be eyes, but which pierced him, nevertheless. They didn’t want him, and they didn’t want him near. Within the sunken orbs welled a profound sorrow. Their bodies trailed out behind them like tails of a comet—wispy, glowing tendrils now slowly contracting back as the ring reconstituted itself and slowly turned back toward Rachel. These things—whatever they were—broke over her like a cloud, touching her, nuzzling her, it seemed.

A strange serenity welled up in David, as it had in those fleeting moments with Malea in the water. Was this yet another wrinkle in the world he thought he knew, another new reality? He inched forward. New reality or not, there was one gospel that compelled him always.

Rachel, he said, and slowly extended his arms.

The apparitions scattered in apparent agitation, some breaking ranks and darting at David once again, but now Rachel held out her arms, as she had with the great stag at Kane Manor.

It’s okay, she said.

David was not entirely sure to whom she was speaking, but there was no mistaking the effect her words had, as the apparitions turned back to her, slowing, fluttering, calming. David glanced at his friends; each stared in various states of wonder, except Chester, who looked with an expression of severe assessment, as if in so doing he might somehow extricate that which he beheld from the muddled depths of incomprehension.

Amazing, said Audrey, her voice trailing off, eyes locked onto the otherworldly nimbus. They’re drawn to her.

Rachel, David said again. We have to go.

They’re scared, Rachel said. They’re lost.

David inched closer, remaining focused on his sister, doing his best to ignore the angry buzzing. He held out a hand. Another jolt besieged him, and he flinched but didn’t fall back.

No! Rachel exclaimed.

David braced and extended his hand again, and this time Rachel stepped forward and grasped it. They began to walk, their friends quickly following.

The ring disintegrated once more and roiled in distress; the apparitions darted and dived around them, coalescing back into the vaporous halo before splintering off again. Their agitation grew louder and more persistent, like a cloud of hungry mosquitoes.

Keep my hand, David called over the hum. Keep walking.

They did, David guiding his sister past and around headstones that rose as jutting silhouettes, gleaming into focus under the seething, spectral glow. A profound incongruity gnawed at him. For whatever reason, he’d been chosen as a principal in this ancient game, had already been thrust into the chaos and mystery of converging worlds. But that was no reason to drag anyone else into it, especially the people he cared about most. Even if he could no longer accomplish it for himself, he wished more than anything that he could somehow return things to the way they had once been for everyone else—slam the door to other worlds and lock it shut, no matter what might rise up pounding from the other side. Yet, as they walked past graves and approached the road from which they’d veered, the drone deafening and the glow blinding, he knew in his heart that it was well too late.

When they at last reached the interior road, Robert helped Chester into his wheelchair.

Their last few steps would not be easy: their thrumming escort roared into a disorienting cacophony and swirled violently about them. David wondered if they would be pursued all the way home; indeed, he wondered if they would get home.

He needn’t wait long for an answer, for as soon as he and Rachel crossed over to the road, the spirits flattened and were jolted back.

They cannot cross, Audrey said.

The spirits circled and fomented, some breaking ranks and trying the barrier once again, rebuffed each time like moths at a bug lantern. Gradually, it began to fade, like retreating fog, but a few wisps lingered behind, near Rachel. They were distinct figures now—faces, young and old and varied, imploring Rachel with mournful eyes.

She held out a hand, but David gently pulled her back.

I’m sorry, she said, eyes glistening in the lingering glow.

The drone faded out as they headed toward the entrance, gradually replaced by the low whirring of Chester’s wheelchair and clanking of Audrey’s candles. Bits of reality beckoned: streetlights, the sound of passing vehicles, the yammering of a dog... trademarks of familiarity bestowing small measures of comfort. Clinging to pillars which had forever supported all one understood of the world, did not always bespeak denial. Sometimes it was a way to cope, a way to steady oneself, before opening doors you never knew were there.

***

HE EXPECTED HIS FATHER’S EYES TO be tinged with admonition, but when he opened the front door to their house and saw him standing there in the foyer, he registered something more.

I’m sorry, David said, pinning his hopes on a preemptive apology. I should have called. We just ran a little late.

More than a little, his father said, his tone severe. We’ll talk about it later. He glanced toward the living room before turning back to his son. You have a visitor.

Chapter 2 – But a Messenger

MARCEL! DAVID BURST PAST HIS FATHER into the living room, but the individual who rose from the couch to meet him was not Marcel. He was a short man who strode forward, extended his hand, and addressed David in a somewhat high-pitched voice.

I am sorry to disappoint. I am but a messenger on your friend’s behalf.

David’s father appeared at the edge of the living room, holding a very tired-looking Rachel. I’m going to put her to bed, he said. He regarded their guest. You’re certain you wouldn’t like anything?

The man smiled. Thank you, no. I do not wish to impose upon you any more than I have.

David’s father nodded and headed to the stairwell with Rachel.

Their guest turned back to David and said, Master Rose.

David, he said.

David. And I am Herm—you may call me Herman. Shall we sit?

They did. Herman regarded him with an almost reverent expression that David found unsettling. He knew it was well-intended, that Herman, like Marcel and Kane and apparently countless others, regarded him as some vital piece of their great puzzle, a key player in their grand game, but he wanted nothing to do with it. He didn’t want to be exalted—or hunted—for something he could scarcely remember and, at any rate, had not chosen for himself.

Nonetheless, he trusted Marcel, and if he’d dispatched this man to see him, then David needed to trust him too. They were, after all, his best chance at achieving that which he wanted most.

Marcel sent you?

Herman smiled. Indeed yes, but I do not begrudge the duty. I have traveled far greater distances, to be sure. A light flickered behind his eyes.

The footfalls upon the second-floor hallway diminished, a door squeaked open, and it was apparent her father was putting Rachel to bed.

Herman glanced toward the stairwell, then back at David. He doesn’t know, then? I rather suspected otherwise.

He doesn’t believe.

Herman raised an eyebrow. But he was there, yes? When you awakened?

David eyed the stairwell. He was, but he couldn’t see what I saw, couldn’t feel what I felt. And Kane was just too good.

Herman nodded. I can only imagine how hard it is, wishing you could see Marcel, wanting to tell your father, wanting to find your mother—new worlds, new yous, boundless possibility. But I imagine, in so many ways, you feel ever more alone.

David looked down, but after a moment lifted his head and met Herman’s gaze. He blinked fiercely and nodded.

Allow yourself these sentiments, Herman said, but do not despair. Alone as you might in your darkest moments believe yourself to be, take heart that this is not true. Many walk beside you, even when you cannot see.

David took a deep breath, exhaled. What now?

You have been awakened, Herman said. You now walk in concurrent worlds. It will be all too easy to become consumed with those newer ones, because they are newer, because they simmer with magic—some parts wondrous, some parts dark—but stay mindful, Master Rose... David... of that world you’ve always known. The others will beckon soon enough, but for now, I suggest you try to live as normally as possible—no easy thing, I grant you.

What about school? David asked. Friends? Memories of his duel with Donovan swept over him. These... abilities I have.... Should I hide them?

Herman smiled, as though impressed with the question. You must exercise your best judgment.

David wanted to roll his eyes. Why did it always seem there were half-answers, elusive clues, deepening mysteries? He vaguely got the concept that it might somehow be better to discover these things on his own, but he hadn’t asked for any of this, and it would have suited him just as well to be handed the entire playbook at once.

The woman, he suddenly said.

Herman raised an eyebrow.

Malea... she said something to me, something about a gathering, I think. What is that?

Herman’s expression suggested that were the individual in question present, he would most assuredly admonish her, but his features quickly softened. Yes, the Great Assembling, and it is why caution is paramount, for the lines between worlds have already begun to blur. Doorways have been opened.

Donovan, said David. Our past lives.

Not only that. You can imagine the difficulty attempting to render comprehensible a story whose plot has thickened for millennia.

Yes, said David, recalling the infusion of memories that had flooded him at Tintagel.

Herman glanced upstairs. Our time grows short. The mirror... have you discovered its purpose?

Maybe, David said. I saw someone... me—the other me.

"Another you."

David inhaled deeply. But just that once.

Herman nodded. I see.

Will you teach me?

Herman regarded him wistfully. It is not my place to do so, though I can only imagine your anxiousness. He smiled. Great wonders await, but your ability to navigate them will benefit the more from waiting for Marcel. I caution you that meddling with these powers before that time might prove unwise.

David sighed. Always, there seemed to be such equivocations, irksome shades of gray. New worlds beckon, but wait for Marcel to show you. We don’t know when that might be. Great power sits at your fingertips, but grasping it could have dire consequences. It was like he’d finally arrived at a great door behind which awaited the answers he’d for so very long sought, only to be told to come back later. He longed for swift and decisive movement, such as he’d felt when Arondight had come alive in his hands, but he would try to wait... for now... again.

How unwise? he asked.

The floorboards creaked above them and they glanced upwards.

Herman spoke quietly. The immortals walk in worlds known to no others, see things no one else sees. Good or evil, they stand out like beacons to one another. Herman leaned closer. You are awakened, he said. From this day forward, as you discover your powers, as you step further into this new world, it gives off signals.

Others will see it? David asked. Others like me?

Others will see it, and others will come.

The floorboards creaked again, louder this time; his father was returning.

Herman arose, and David did likewise. By the time David’s father had rejoined them, Herman had moved to the front door.

You’re leaving?

I’m afraid I must, Herman said. He gestured upstairs with a tilt of his head. Your precious angel, she is all right?

I think so, David father said. She’s asleep. Of course, it’s hard to really know what all right is, given all that has happened, especially for one so young."

Herman nodded. Indeed, it is, sir. Indeed, it is. She has endured much. You all have. She is lucky to have you.

We are lucky to have her.

Herman appeared solemn but once more his eyes glinted as he nodded. We all are.

Herman shook their hands a final time before pulling the door open and stepping out into the night.

David’s father peered out at their driveway, and up and down the street. A curious look lit over his features. Can I give you a ride? Call you a cab?

Thank you, no, Herman said. My conveyance awaits just around the corner.

David observed him, that glint more pronounced in the darkness.

Farewell for now, friends. Herman turned and headed off on foot.

David remembered something, something so obvious he shook his head that he hadn’t thought to broach it until now. He watched their visitor diminishing into the spectral glare of the streetlights—quaint and quiet houses, the occasional returning vehicle, the shrill song of cicadas. Tomorrow, adults would go to work, and kids of all ages would set about their summer plans—normal stuff. Trouble was, that term had flipped within the reservoir of David’s understanding, in this new world where up was down, day was night, and time a thing more uncertain still.

Wait!

Herman stopped and turned, his shadow flaring like wings upon the pavement.

David broke into a trot. There was one other, he said upon reaching him.

Herman regarded him.

One other time it happened, with the mirror. Tonight, in fact—at the cemetery.

Whom did you see?

David hesitated. Not in there, he said. Not exactly. We tried to see if it would work... see who might come, and they did, only... not from the mirror.

Herman’s brow furrowed.

David could feel his heart begin to accelerate, as had become customary during times