Morgan’s Knot
Nanchez, a hulking giant in a dark uniform and a worn leather apron, stood alone at a long cluttered workbench staring at a large purple messenger while twisting a dial on one of the many strange instruments bound together by a tangle of cables. He brushed a stray curl of white hair from his dark eyes with the tip of an enormous finger and muttered, “Right then, it works.”
The Keeper of the Dark Powers turned as the lock from the main laboratory hissed open and Jofre strode into the workroom preceded by the staccato of his thick boots clacking a determined cadence and trailing a heavy cape from his shoulders. It was rare for the Grand Master of the Elders to visit this most secret vault unannounced. Usually, Nanchez was summoned at their pleasure, as if he had too little to do in the first place.
The huge Keeper stood, dwarfed by his visitor both in stature and demeanor, and The Master leaned to inquire, “I understand that your calculations proved successful?”
“As if there was any doubt,” snarled Nanchez with a twinkle in his eye. There was a certain advantage to maintaining the mystique of the Powers with anyone from the political hierarchy of their society, especially a tyrant who would snuff out a life on a whim.
Jofre rose through the ranks and seized the throne in a short violent coup that only wet his appetite to pursue greater ambitions, “Then you and our seer agree?”
The giant Keeper grunted and walked over to remove a cloth covering gleaming metal on another counter, “We’ve been in agreement for weeks…long enough to prepare a detailed plan and for my engineers to construct this model of a new tunneling machine. It’s scaled down, for the moment, because the channel must only accommodate troops and small vehicles. The advantage being that by reducing the quantity of rock that has to be chipped and removed, the excavation will move much more quickly, expediting the mission, and we can always enlarge the duct later, if it proves advantageous.”
Jofre’s white eyes gleamed as he studied the black diamond claws at the front and a conveyor snaking through the length of the mechanism to ferry debris away from the cut, “Impressive.”
“I’m glad you approve because construction on the working version is well underway and tracks are being laid. We should be ready to commence the operation within days.”
“Then so be it. I’ll consult with the Council but rest assured that you’ll have their blessing.”
Nanchez turned to stare into the cold white eyes, “Are you sure?”
“We will proceed. Revenge is our destiny,” replied Jofre, excusing the Keeper’s insolence as sincerity.
“There’ll be no stopping, once we’ve started.”
“I’ll not be satisfied with simply taking back the rest of the island. No, this is only the beginning. It won’t be long before we join with others to dominate all the Powers across the planet.”
Chapter Two
Adrian was an ordinary boy waiting in absolute silence in a crush of classmates, watching the second hand on the ancient clock above the entry tick away the final seconds. The first ting of the bell was drowned by the roar of children crashing through the hallowed hallways of the Heritage Academy in celebration of the last day of school for the year. Mired in a rush of bodies, Adrian burst through the heavy oak doors into the warm salty breeze of a sunny afternoon.
He found his best friends, Stubby and Kick, and dashed down the sidewalk through a thicket of parents, charting secret plans for the summer. The pavement gave way to a rocky path, just south of the little village, and they trotted into the forest along the ridge overlooking their homes along the bay.
“I’ll call you later,” cried Adrian, cutting down the hill through the woods into a flutter of hummingbirds that rose from the meadow to swarm around him like a shawl wafting in the wind, glittering ruby sparkles. Robins, a pair of cardinals, a blue jay, a nest full of wrens in a titter, and a family of squirrels peeked from the branches of a tall maple. A red fox, stalking a clutch of young rabbits through the grasses, stopped to stare, his bushy tail standing straight and still in the gentle breeze as the lad passed.
The boy banged through the kitchen door to find his mother wearing a yellow bathing suit and a short robe. She leaned for a hug, “Get your trunks on and we’ll go for a swim. I have cookies in the basket.”
“I’ll be right back,” said Adrian, racing to his bedroom to change his clothes and scamper back to the kitchen.
They strolled, hand-in-hand, down the pebble beach to a catwalk that stretched into the bay. His father’s vintage sloop, The Sparrow, bobbed gracefully on gentle waves at the end of the dock, elegant lines in gleaming woods and polished brass ready to leap through the waves on the open seas given just a whisper of wind. Adrian peeled off his shirt and plunged into the cold water. He dove deep and exploded through the surface with the sheer joy of his new freedom.
He was tall for his awkward age and a bit lanky. A mop of blond curls fell wet around a tanned face and a few freckles dotted his slender nose. Electric blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and, one might suspect, a bit of mischief, yet there was also a tender spirit barely hiding in a softness at the corners of his mouth.
Sara sat on the edge of the dock, while Adrian swam back and forth, kicking and splashing sheets of cold water that fell just short of her long legs. He laughed at her faint protests and, finally, climbed the ladder to towel himself off. She gazed at her son with pride and poured him a glass of iced tea, opening the small wicker basket to reveal a pile of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, still warm in a plaid tea towel. Adrian took one in each hand.
“How was your last day of school?”
“It was a waste of time. We’d already finished everything. Besides cleaning out our desks and lockers, there wasn’t really much left to do,” he mumbled, licking a bit of chocolate from his lip. “I did manage to get a copy of my geography book.”
“Did you steal it?”
“No, they were sorting books to be saved for next year or recycled and I asked Mr. Watson if I could have it.”
“That’s good then. I still have some of my textbooks from college and I actually refer back to them from time to time,” smiled Sara. “You never stop learning…although I’m finding that the older I get, the more I have to open up the archives in my mind to find a fact or a name amongst all that’s stuffed in there!”
“It’s tough getting old, isn’t it?” giggled Adrian.
She pursed her lips, feigning offense, “The flip side is that you still have lots of room inside that marvelous mind of yours for reams of information and I, personally, believe that school ought to last twelve months a year, so you don’t lose half of what you’ve learned lolly-gagging around over the summer. That’s the way it was when I was a girl.”
“That must have been a long time ago,” said Adrian, “and I’ll bet you had to walk ten miles uphill in a snowstorm every day to school and back.”
“Even in the summer!” His mother smirked, “It wasn’t quite that bad, I actually liked school.”
Adrian was a good student, looking forward to his first year in the upper school. He was fascinated with the process of learning and accepted the challenge, which is not to include the redundancy of the lessons or the repetitive exercises, which were certainly designed to quash any creative brain cells that might multiply inside an inquisitive child’s mind. It did not require much effort to earn honors in his classes but his primary complaint was that teachers presented only half the truth.
He was sure there was something deeper, darker, and far more interesting buried in missing articles that must have been omitted to prevent normal people from knowing the truth. There would be time to ponder that notion through the holiday, which fluttered through his mind like a book of empty pages awaiting a dramatic first line.
His mother took his hand in both of hers, sighed, and turned away to stare across the bay. Small waves lapped at the pilings below the dock and gulls gathered overhead, squawking for a morsel. Adrian held a piece of cookie in the air and, one by one, the white birds swooped closer and closer until the bravest snatched a large crumb. Others followed in a small cloud of fluttering wings, their caws growing louder as they jostled for a tidbit.
Sara turned to her son, her eyes somber, “There’s something that we must talk about...”
Normally a melody of laughter and mirth, the soft assurance of this particular tenor was reserved for serious matters or apprehension for one of his pranks.
“Dad’s been offered...no, ordered to a new job,” she said. “The company wants him in Vancouver.”
“Vancouver?” stammered Adrian. Vancouver was a very long way from home.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I know this is going to be hard on you. You have your friends, school, and all the things that you’ve known all your life...but we really have no choice. Your father has interviewed for other jobs and we’ve decided that this is probably the best decision for all of us.”
“But....” sputtered the boy, any words of protest escaping in his confusion. Staring deep into the reflections on the waves below the pier, he watched his dreams for the summer dissipating like the inky ripples spreading from the pilings in perfect iridescent rings. Finally, he asked, “When...?”
“They want your father in Vancouver by September. Between now and then, we have to sell the house, pack and ship our things, and move the boat.”
They were quiet for a while as Adrian pondered these unexpected and unwelcome revelations. A huge black raven circled slowly, high above the bay, the golden sunlight reflecting the occasional electric blue-black flash as the enormous bird shifted the feathers at the tips of long thick wings to catch the thermals. He had only seen a few flying over the harbor before, always alone, but certainly none as large and, at this moment, soaring through the clouds represented everything that he was being asked to forfeit.
A gentle puff of wind roused him from his thoughts. He looked at his mother and his eyes filled with tears as he struggled to find the words that might save the happy balance of their life in this tiny hamlet.
Sara put her arms around her son and pulled him close, “I know this will be a big change for all of us but we’re a family and we’ll find a way to make this easier, I promise,” she added, her voice trailing off. “There is one more thing,”
Adrian turned, staring expectantly into her blue eyes. She brushed back his hair and kissed his forehead, “Your Aunt Elsie has offered to keep you, while we sail the boat around. Once we’re settled, she’ll take you to the airport and we’ll be waiting when you get to Vancouver.”
“But I’ve been sailing with you and Dad since I was born. I won the trophy in my class the past three years. I could help.”
“We talked about that,” she said. “If we were not in such a rush, we might agree. After considering everything, we’ve decided that it would be easier and safer if you spent some time with Elsie, George, and the girls on Morgan’s Knot, while we move the boat, find a house, and get things settled. I know that none of this is what you want but it is what we think best.”
“When?” Adrian asked, afraid of the answer.
“This weekend,” replied his mother, tears flushed her beautiful eyes with sadness and compassion.
Adrian had only visited Morgan’s Knot once, when he was younger, and became acquainted with the twins, Molly and Megan, when they visited for a few days, years ago. They were nice enough but certainly not the friends he hoped would share his summer.
“You’ll like the island,” his mother said with a gentle, knowing smile. “It’s a very magical place. I grew up there and I know that you’ll learn how special it is, if you’ll give it a chance until we can send for you.”
Adrian did not reply but slumped off the dock into the cold water and let himself sink into darkness before stroking hard into the open bay. Finally, shivering and depressed, he swam back to his mother and dried himself off. Before she could stand, he darted across the gangway and up the hill into the woods without looking back. His heart felt abandoned, confused, angry, and an irrepressible sadness.
There was no one he could talk with who might soothe his anguish or change their decision. Everyone else in the little hamlet was staying, some with family trees stretching back to the Vikings, or so they claimed. People didn’t move in and out of the village. They were born here, lived here, and died here. They might go away to college or to follow a dream, but they always came back.
A thin layer of clouds shrouded the sky, muting the glittering reflection of the sun on the water, silhouetting several sailboats moored to buoys in the harbor that opened into the Atlantic. His eyes traced every detail of the only home that he had ever known. A screened porch wrapped around the south side beneath gray wood shingles and yellow shutters almost glowed against the blue clapboard cottage nestled beneath several huge maple trees. The first pink blossoms had opened on his mother’s rose bushes, standing determined despite waves of cold north wind that refused to give way to summer.
He etched the view into his memory because he felt in his heart that he might never see it again, then turned and scampered up the path through the woods until he was out of sight. He slumped down next to the trunk of an ancient oak and sobbed uncontrollably, knowing that the roots of his life, the village that was the foundation of his identity, would be displaced by a boring summer on Morgan’s Knot with cousins he hardly knew and then a new life in Vancouver. “Somehow, someday, I will come back.”
He was roused by the distant caw of the gigantic raven tracing long slow circles in the sky over the bay. A patch of sunlight streaming through the giant trees illuminated the tiny meadow of wildflowers. Waves of hummingbirds fluttered into the air, wrapping him in a cloud of buzzing wings and a chorus of tiny chirps. Their joy lifted him from the ground and guided him along the path to the little blue cottage.