A Tale or Two Worlds

Do you want to hear this story or not? I can assure you that what I have to say is not for the faint of heart. Then again, the faint of heart might be just who this story is for. What about you? Are you faint of heart?

They say that this boy loved books. When Peter, a scruffy haired little jelly roll of a boy, turned 10 he basically moved into his town’s public library. It wasn’t the most elaborate of libraries such as the great lost library once was. Then again, not many had the benefit of having memory of that great lost library. Anyway, Peter would sit in awe at the cavalcade of tomes that filled a meager multitude of shelves within an antiquated modest building. This boy, he could not read, and many people seemed to have issues when it came to placing him at all. Aside from all that this tow-headed boy would hold a volume next to his chest and close his eyes.

So, it was. One day. One very special day Peter was crumpled in a corner of the library holding a fraying copy of “A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens. His eyes fluttered and then slowly opened as a swishing sound ever so gently reverberated in his ears. The repetition of the sound caused him to squint as he tried to peer through the darkness of the now closed library. He moved to stand while placing the book flat on a table he had hid behind subsequently falling asleep. A tiny rubber ball he used as a pencil eraser rolled out of his lap as he stood up and he gasped. He squatted quickly as he was able to make out a figure in the darkness. It stood facing the wall opposite of where Peter crouched. The swishing sound, he figured, was the robbed garment adorning the figure before him. Despite the immense racket Peter was sure he was creating; the figure did not seem effected. However, his ball proved a bit more extemporaneous as the noise of rubber rolling on hardwood teased the figure causing it to walk away and head toward the front desk which was two rooms to the right of Peter. The boy squeezed his eyes closed as a familiar swishing encroached and then passed by him. Peter opened his eyes slightly as the only door to the room was closed and then locked.

Peter rubbed his eyes as he stared at the wall opposite of him where the figure had been standing. Even though there was only one door that led in and out of the room the boy bit his bottom lip and speculated on his sanity. For in front of him came an illumination unlike anything he had every seen. A dark silver light emanated from the wall. In the year or so he had been coming to the library he had never seen such a thing. Then again, he had never fallen asleep and stayed past closing. For a moment he grimaced at the thought of the revocation of his permissions. He thought that surely, he was witness to something that was off limits. Something beckoned to him though. It was as if the silver light had danced and swirled to form the shape of a winged creature and the very photons of light arranged themselves as a hand with silvery fingers that motioned for Peter. Without thinking too heavily against the idea, Peter moved to his feet again and trotted toward the origin of the dark light. The hands framed Peters face and then cupped his chin. The index finger of one hand gently tapped the tip of his nose and then disappeared as a swirl under that “door” and back to the other side. Peter looked at the floor and saw that his ball had stopped at the spot right next to where that figure had been standing. Peter knelt on his hands and knees to peek under the door. Despite the darkness of the silver light, it was rather luminescent, and he could not see anything that would hint as to the content of the other side. Peter grabbed his ball as he made his way back to his feet.

As he stood, the space at the bottom of the door climbed in height with Peters head. When the boy was at his full stance the door lay open as though it was a perfect match for his stance. Peters’ breath caught at the realization that even though the door was open he could see nothing past the dark silver light. He let out a courageous breath and stepped through the threshold. In a single moment the door behind him shrank from all sides until only a pinhole remained and then that blipped shut. He was there then. The space in between where doors exist beyond the center and out through eternity is where he was. This is the great forgotten library whose tomes are written with the photons of memories. Light is the ink here and darkness is what is used in order to see. The air did not move and yet a coolness lingered in its very stillness. Peter’s eyes adjusted and, in the silver twinkling, a swirling darkness took form and the fingers entangled Peters and pulled him toward a pillar of stardust and then he was running as the hands urged him to move faster. All around him were doors and windows of all shapes and sizes with varying shades of silvers, grays, blacks, and even gold surrounding him like a technicolor dream blanket. His head spun as he rushed to where the hands were beckoning, and everything began to streak as if he were moving in a running blur. The sound of the silence in the colored was so magnanimous and deafening that Peter wanted to cry but his very being betrayed him and no tears fell from his eyes. His screams were stifled by what sounded like the crashing of waves upon a rocky seashore, a horn bellowed loudly. Then all was still, and no noise filled the space in which Peter stood, or sat, he didn’t quite know anymore. His orientation to the area around him confused him greatly. What he did notice was that the hands were no longer lingering upon his flesh anymore. The doors and windows had all melded together into a single archway and only a hollow grey swirled in a rather constrained space. Without warning of any type, Peter was thrust into the doorway just as he mused about the other side.

Peter inhaled sharply as the hands that had pushed him disappeared into the very atmosphere of the world he was now a part of. His mouth formed an O as he beheld what stretched out in front of him. The land was filled with many wonders and creatures of all shapes and sizes. Suddenly he was thrown onto the ground by a great force that was not directed toward him. Two large creatures were engaged in a tremendous battle.

A massive red dragon hit the ground with its neck falling in such a way the massive maw was aimed to come crashing down right a top of Peter who was still reeling from the force of having just been knocked down. Quickly, another winged being swooped in and grabbed the stunned boy and flew him to a hilltop just as the mouth of the red dragon fell upon the spot where Peter had just been. A green dragon jumped while spreading its massive wings to glide sharply on the neck of the red dragon. Twisting its body at what appeared to be an odd angle the gigantic green beast stamped a clawed foot down on the head of the red beast. The mouth of the red dragon was forced closed as the talons of an emerald green claw clenched shut. Blue liquid shot out of a wound under the jaw of the ruby colored head. The wounded beast tried in vain to cry out but just a low rumble emanated from the throat of that large crimson behemoth. Peter just stared in awe! He had no idea where he was or how he had come to be here.

This is where I encountered Peter for the first time and how I have come about telling his story. This is how he came about to be in the world of dragons, the world of Avalon. At this time I must leave you. For this is but the first part of this story. The story of a boy who came to save an entire world and brought about the beginnong of merging ours and yours together once again.