"I'm telling you, brother to brother, people are going to remember." "I don't think so. With time, people move on with their lives." "You peed your pants at the end-of-year school assembly, in front of all your classmates. You were supposed to be doing the half-court challenge." "Bladder problems run in the family. Mom said that no one really cares about anyone but themselves these days anyway, and I'm inclined to agree." "That may be true, but people still say callous things without any reason other than the fact that it springs to their minds, and they make a connection that will somehow validate their sense of being, whatever form that takes."
Ethan Tracy and his younger brother Philip were sitting outside on the back porch in the cool air of late summer, relaxing in white plastic chairs. Their dad, not too far away, was working on the grill, earphones on, listening to old bossa nova tunes.
"Anyway, that was in Middle School. I'm going to be a freshman this year, so I'm not too worried," said Philip. "I admire your nerves of steel. I was terrified a couple years ago when I became a freshman. It took a while to adjust to the expansion of my liberties, if you get my meaning." "Not really." "It's just that there's more to do and see and learn, and then outside of class, you might discover there's more choices than those presented by whomever. You have to seek out your own path," said Ethan cryptically.
Mr. John Tracy placed the pork chops on a large plate. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, but skinny. He had short, curly blond hair. Ethan inherited the curly hair and broad shoulders, but he was slightly overweight, while Philip inherited more from his mother side with brown hair and a sharp countenance.
"Dinner's ready, go on inside and help your mom and sister set the table," he said. "Sure thing," said Ethan. Philip nodded.
The Tracys were an orderly, middle-class family who followed the Christian faith, although only attending church at the major events in the Lutheran calendar, namely Christmas, Good Friday, and Easter. They lived in a medium-sized town named Carlisle some 140 miles southwest of Chicago, not too far away from Peoria. It was a typical midwestern town, having a number of elementary schools, a middle school and a high school, as well as a Megamart and your typical franchised and "ma and pa" restaurants and businesses.
The dinner table was set, and the Tracys began their evening meal, with topics ranging from the upcoming school year, to some squabbles over politics, to concern over their oldest, Sylvia, who was having a tough time during the summer, having few friends in Carlisle, but many at college.
"I never really liked this town anyway," said Sylvia. "You thought it was alright growing up, you just didn't connect intellectually with anyone," Her mother, Nancy, replied. "What about Abigail? You used to always hang around each other," said Mr. Tracy. "She's been away for the summer in Greece. I'm just looking forward to my return to Dundee College. Only one more week." "That's right," said Ethan, "The end of summer quickly approaches, and a new school year is nigh approaching!" They all looked at him. Philip broke the silence. "Ethan still insists I'll be made fun of." "It happens to the best of us," chimed in Mr. Tracy. "Did you pee your pants in an absurdly public and embarrassing manner?" "I'm hardly the best."
They finished their dinner, and each member of the household went on with their activities, the brothers playing video-games, Sylvia watching a movie on a laptop, and the parents watching TV in the living room.
Across town, in a strip mall, was situated a family-owned tea shop called "The Tea Huis" getting ready to close for the night. The owners were Belgian and along with tea they sold an assortment of fine chocolates and stroopwafels. Their fourteen year old daughter, Becca Abbink, a skinny brunette with bold facial features, was cleaning the front desk and doing this and that to get the shop ready for tomorrow's operations. It was raining outside. There were a few people sitting at the tables finishing their tea. Smooth jazz music was playing softly in the background. The front door opened, and in entered a young man, a regular, by the name of Brent Paulsen. He was wearing a hooded windbreaker jacket, and was tall but unassuming, with short black hair, and a lanky demeanor.
"Hi, Brent," Becca said, as he made his way to the front desk. "Hello. 300 grams of your afternoon Darjeeling tea," he said, in a tired voice "Sure thing, everything alright?" "Just the usual. I'm not looking forward to school starting." "Is the High School that bad?" she asked. "Oh, it's not that. Other things..." he trailed off.
Becca busied herself with putting a pack of the tea into a cloth bag, and sealing it with a nylon string.
"It's your last year, right?" she asked. "Yeah, my time to shine has finally approached. Maybe I can keep the grades up and get into a state college next year. Although I don't really like the idea of college. Maybe an apprenticeship or something," he said. "What's your idea of college?" "Having to fake it, school pride and spirit, frat and sorority houses, and this social criteria of who does or doesn't fit into the system. It's expensive too." "I hope this tea cheers you up." She said brightly. "Thanks, yeah, it always does. Sorry to bother you while you're closing. Have a nice night." Brent said as he lumbered out into the rain.
The other guests eventually made their way out as well, and Becca went back into the office where her mother and father were discussing something in Belgian Dutch.
"Everyone's out. How long until we can go home?" asked Becca. "Give us twenty minutes." Her father said.
Becca made herself a cup of chamomile tea, and sat in one of the patron seats, and looked out the window, the rain falling at a pleasant steady pace, as if it was an ordained sacred washing, and she looked forward to being "there" out in it, water and mist, cars sloshing by and piercing the clouded night with their headlights, and she would separate herself mentally from such machines, and look up into the sky and spread her arms upward, reaching out.
Sally Rose was trying to improve her chess skills with a computer chess engine. It was an interesting bit of software that taught her the mistakes she was making as she played. She started High School in a week and there was a chess club that intrigued her because she wanted to make friends, but also chess was always been something out of reach for her, and she wanted to pull it close to her, until she understood the sort of mind-frame it required. She made a lot of mistakes, but she was growing. In Middle School, she was a nobody, slightly chubby, freckled and overall an awkward young woman. She did have one good friend, but she felt she wasn't quite "there". She had looked into Borderline Personality Disorder online, and the evidence was damning, but Sally tried to think the best of her, even if she was unstable, and maybe it wasn't a disorder that was encompassing her friend, but something at home, or away from it.
Her friend wasn't interested in chess so there she was, her head glued to the monitor, trying to figure out the essence of the knight piece. She started to daydream about her past crushes. All handsome young men, but they didn't give her any attention. Not that she really expected it. She didn't think she was ugly; plain maybe. She was sure chess wasn't the portal to their hearts, so she let go of those dreams. She tried to concentrate. The Knight was the only piece with indirect movements, giving it an unpredictable attribute. She decided she would master the Knight, and that would be the key to the rest of her game. She was still learning.
Sally moved away from her computer and looked out the window. A gloomy night with unceasing rain. She could hear the water flowing in the gutters above her window. She looked back at her room, sizing it up, and trying to notice any disorder. She always kept her room spotless, and she had an eye for seeing things that shouldn't be there, so she was naturally surprised to find a very old, large book lying on her night desk. Its appearance was inexplicable to her, so she fidgeted a little bit, and then fainted.
When she came to, it was still there. Sally moved toward the book, and looked at the cover: "Formulas for Success" Maybe her dad had brought it into the room when she was concentrating on her chess game. She was too tired to look further and set it aside among her other books.
It was the first day of the school year for Carlisle High School. Ethan drove his sedan and found a parking spot.
He went off to talk to his friends, leaving Philip to go to his locker, noticing some people smirking at him while he made his journey. He was the quiet sort, kept to himself, maintained equilibrium. The behavior of other people didn't bother him, as much as having to react in some way to a situation beyond his control. Someone patted him on the back and asked, "How's it going?." Philip turned around to find Becca Abbink smiling at him.
"Did you have a good summer?" she asked.
Being the same year, Philip and Becca were good friends.
"It's going alright. Summer was decent. I was about to head to my first class, Geometry." "That's nice," she said, "I'm sure no one remembers the assembly thing." Philip sighed. "Do we have any classes together?" asked Philip. They compared schedules and found they shared Biology and Study Hall. "Cool, See you in Biology." Becca went off to her own locker, and Philip headed to his first class.
It was an old High School, with some abandoned classrooms, outdated science and technology equipment, a small cafeteria, and poor air conditioning. Students had the option of leaving the high school during lunch time to dine at the town's restaurants and fast food joints. Philip met up with Becca at a long standing establishment called Country House. Bland name and decor, but the food was inexpensive and tasted good.
They both decided High School wasn't all that different from Middle School, except the reins were a little looser. Philip was starting to understand Ethans's idea of liberty here, but in the back of his mind he knew his brother meant something different.
As they were eating, Becca noticed Brent enter the restaurant, and beckoned him over. He looked distraught about something.
"You don't happen to know a Sally Rose, by any chance?" "Uh yeah, she's in our grade, kind of quiet," answered Philip, "Why do you ask?" "She has something of mine, I think." "Sally's locker isn't too far away from mine. Do you want me to say something to her?" asked Philip. "Just tell her I'm looking for her about a book." "What sort of book?" inquired Becca. "It's nothing. Sentimental value."
Before they could ask more questions, Brent bid them farewell and left in a hurry.
"Weird." said Becca.
They finished their meal and headed back to the High School to resume their studies, both wondering about Brent and his book.
After the school day had ended with the final bell, Philip tried to find Sally, but she had already left. He and Becca decided to walk to Sally's house as she didn't live far from the High School. Becca had been there before for her 8th grade graduation party. She rang the doorbell, and after a few seconds Sally came to the door with a surprised look on her face.
"Hello," She said. "Hi Sally, we don't know each other very well, but someone told us something about a book, so we're investigating." Becca said. "What book?" "Brent said it was very old and large." "Oh that. I don't know how it got to me but I tried to read some of it." "Tried?" asked Philip. "Yes, it's complete nonsense with a lot of diagrams and graphs that I can't make heads or tails of." "Can we look at it?" Asked Becca brightly.
Sally let them in and they followed her upstairs to her bedroom.
"Your room is so nice and tidy!" Becca said. "Thank you," replied Sally, growing crimson, "The book is over there."
They all perused the book together, and none of them could make sense of it.
"Maybe it's like the Voynich manuscript. No one has deciphered it and most scholars agree it's a practice in language fabrication," said Philip. "I don't know why Brent would have something like this. Who is he anyway, Becca? Seems a little shady."
"Oh he's alright. He's always at the tea shop reading something."
The door bell rang.
"I'll get it, make yourselves comfortable." said Sally, with a slight smile on her face.
A few minutes passed, and Sally arrived back to her room with Brent in tow.
"Oh, you found it. Mind if I take it back?" "Why does Sally have the it in her room?" asked Becca. "That's a difficult question to answer. It's a book on metaphysics among other things."
Then Brent sighed and sat down on the bed next to the others.
"I would like to explain more, but I have to talk it over with the others." "The others?" asked Becca. "Philip, you're Ethan's brother, right?" "Yes." "He's one of the others. Let's meet somewhere tomorrow after school. How about Belmont Park around 7 PM?" "All of us?" asked Sally. "If you want." "Okay."
School had just finished the next day, and Sally was occupying her time before the meeting with chess strategy. "So the knight is special in that instead of taking a direct course, it can 'move through' and take out the opponents piece." Her first chess club was the next day after school, but she had a hard time focusing on anything other than that old book and the knight. "The knight can 'move through'".
She didn't know Becca and Philip very well, but she was excited, yet nervous to be a part of something. Her ponderings over the sudden appearance of the book was taking her mind to the metaphysical, but she preferred the concrete way of things, generally, or at least that was how she was raised. Maybe this group were art performers, creating illusions to confuse freshmen. But that didn't make sense either, so she gave up thinking about it, and decided she would go with the flow, like Laozi.
Philip had mentioned earlier at her locker that Ethan would pick the three of them all up in his sedan for the group meeting. Ethan was a handsome Junior, out of her league, though of course. She switched her mind over to chess. She examined the bishop, with the groove in it's cap, which supposedly represented an elephant's tusk in the far past. She looked up all the variants of chess: Shogi in Japan, Chaturanga in India, Sittuyin in Myanmar.
Sally had never traveled much in her life. She had never been outside the United States, but she been on a few vacations in Florida and Texas. She found herself being bitten by the travel bug as she browsed the web, looking at pictures of India and Myanmar. Such poor countries, but who was she to say that? Maybe in college she would study abroad.
She lost track of time, and suddenly heard the door bell ring.
The sedan pulled into Belmont Park just before 7 PM. There was a group of people sitting around a picnic table. No one else seemed to be at the park. Philip only recognized Brent out of the three of them gathered there. Brent got up and motioned them over. "Welcome to the group, Philip," he heard Ethan say. He introduced the two others at the table beside Brent. "This is Ariel Mathers. She's a sophomore. Really good at tennis." "And this is Linus Elbe. He's a junior foreign exchange student from Sweden."
They all said hello and shook hands.
"As you probably know, I'm Brent Paulsen, the leader of the group, if you want to call it that." "Have you been enjoying your Darjeeling tea?" Asked Becca. "I have, thank you. As I was just about to tell the the others, it was the Spectral Templar involved in the book transfer." "You're kidding," said Ariel. "I'm not dealing with him again," said Linus. "You don't have to. We finished the contract by bringing in the new members."
Philip coughed politely. "I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?"
"Well, they don't really have names. We give them names that suit them, Spectral being key here." said Linus. "And Templar?" "Use of intelligence and strength to pick apart foes, and also to build an army or group to stand for justice in a correct, organized fashion. It's a good name, I think. It's all in the book." "Aren't spectres supposed to be sort of malicious spirits?" asked Becca. "They can be... stubborn to some degree, but they must follow the pattern as it's laid out for them." They looked at the old book sitting on the middle of the table.
Philip said, "I don't believe in magic or ghosts." Becca was biting one of her fingernails. Sally was just sitting there with a blank look on her face.
Ethan laughed softly.
"I believe in angels." said Sally. Brent looked at her intensely for a moment.
Philip felt uncomfortable and suggested that they were being pranked. He was tired of feeling embarrassed and utterly dejected, and not in control of his own emotions or whatever was going on with his mind and body in this awkward phase of his life.
Ariel looked into her backpack and brought out a small, plain wooden box. She opened it and from a padded interior brought out a unique figure made of multi-colored glass. The figure was fused into a latticed glass sphere. It looked like something out of one of Philip's books on sacred geometry. Specifically, it reminded him of a Hildegard Von Bingen painting called "Universal Man". Ariel placed the figure on the table. She lifted her hands up into the darkening sky, and back down again, cradling the glass piece, until multi-colored light shone forth from it. Light shone from the middle of Ariel's forehead, and then she closed her eyes, and covered the piece completely, until everything was back to normal. The process only took about thirty seconds, but Philip had never seen something so beautiful, and he looked at Ariel with curiosity, her pale face still glowing seemingly, and her raven black hair moving softly in the slight breeze.
"He's resting." She said.
It was nearing midnight, and Brent pulled into the driveway of his grandfather's house, which was on the outskirts of town in a wooded area. He entered the house and looked into his grandfather's bedroom, but he wasn't in there. He called out for him.
"In the workshop!" came a yell from another part of the house.
Brent entered the workshop and found his grandfather working on a glass sculpture.
"Oh, you're busy, I won't bother you." "That's alright. I was about to take a break."
Both of them were night owls. Mr. Theodore Paulsen was Brent's paternal grandfather who had taken him in when he was kicked out of his parents' house. There had been arguments over religion that Brent ended up regretting. His grandmother had passed away when he was seven from breast cancer. He had fond memories of her, but that's all they were now, memories.
They walked through the hallways of the ranch-style house and entered the kitchen. His grandfather was in his early eighties, but still had some youthful vigor to him. He was a glass sculpture artist, which required some physical strain as well as precision. He had long ago retired from a career in law, so the sculptures were mainly to keep his mind and body fit.
"Should I make some tea?" Mr. Paulsen asked. "Sure." Brent answered. "What are you in the mood for?" "How about the moonlight white tea I got a couple weeks ago at The Tea Huis?" "One of my favorites."
His grandfather put water in an electic kettle and brought out an old teapot with an infuser from the cupboard. Brent handed him the bag of tea and sat down at the kitchen table.
"Supposedly it's been aged seven years. In China, the saying goes, three years: fine tea, in seven: heavenly treasure." "Did Becca tell you that? How is she by the way?" asked Mr. Paulsen. "Yeah she did. She's like her normal happy self. She was at the group meeting tonight." "I see. Have you made progress on that book I lent you?" he asked. "I've been stuck with school work. Is it really that important?" "Yes. Plato's Theory of Forms is central to what we are doing. I know your father still thinks it's all heresy, but he could never grasp anything beyond his own purview."
The electric kettle beeped and Mr. Paulsen poured water into the teapot. They waited in silence for a few minutes, then Brent's grandfather sat at the table with the teapot and poured the tea into two mugs.
"I'd prefer to not discuss my parents. I'm dead to them, anyway." Brent said. "They still love you." "So what's the next phase?" asked Brent. "I'll let you know when you're ready."
They sipped their tea in silence for a time.
"And the other book?" his grandfather asked. "It's in my bag. I'll go get it."
Brent left the room, came back with the dusty volume and placed it on the table.
"It's a magical book, you see. It belongs in both the physical world and the metaphysical. It's been enchanted with language obfuscation, but I can make the book more readable." said Mr. Paulsen.
His grandfather took the book, laid both hands on top of it, and suddenly his eyes were white as he looked upward, almost as if recollecting a memory, but he stayed like that for some time, until he returned to normal, looked at Brent thoughtfully for a moment, relaxed himself, and took a drink of his tea. He turned to a a page in the book and marked it.
"This really is great tea. Can you read the page I marked?" his grandfather asked.
Brent turned to the marked page.
'Upon Completion of the Contract.'
"You did well in finding Sally Rose and the others. The group was chosen by the order of this book, and the book comes from generations of wisdom from seers and enchanters, who all put something of themselves in it. Most importantly, it was made with love and great care. Please share this idea with the new members, as they are likely confused, even though the templar chose them for a reason. What that reason is, however, I can't say for sure."
Mr. Paulsen took his leave and went back into the workshop, leaving Brent feeling weightless and bogged down at the same time. He drank more of his tea, and started reading.