Oracle--Solar Wind Read online

  “Sunken Earth!” Jaret cheered. “I think I’ve been there, too.”

  Next, Coy detailed the cross-country adventure that took them to Fire Island, whose native clans had been decimated by Lye’s centuries-old plot to force entry into the volcano’s magma chamber and claim the fire element within.

  “So that’s what that Bubba character was really up to,” Jaret learned.

  And Coy couldn’t leave out the Great River of ore, with its long trail of underground secrets that led to Lye’s personal pyramid of wealth where the third element was hidden.

  “Lye never said how he lost the Vault,” Jaret recalled.

  Coy made mention, too, of Ret—his powers, scars, and uncertain origin; of Lionel—his past support but sudden about-face; of Pauline—her previous precautions but newfound trust; of the Oracle itself, even bringing it out of his bag for Jaret to hold for himself. The knowledge to be shared seemed as endless as the miles of open ocean to be crossed.

  But Mr. Coy made sure the information exchange was a two-way street. After all, it wasn’t every day he found himself in the same cockpit as one of Lye’s insiders. Coy was most concerned about what Lye was currently up to—was he already seeking out the next element?

  “I don’t know,” Jaret explained. “He doesn’t tell us much, and we don’t see him very often. He is constantly on the move. Just a day or two ago, I heard he was somewhere near the North Pole—you know, up in the Arctic Circle.”

  “Really?” Coy wondered with great interest. “What’s he doing up there, I wonder?” He hoped Jaret had more to say.

  But again Jaret said, “I don’t know,” sounding as though he wished he had a better answer, “and who knows if he’s still there.”

  “Hmm,” Coy thought. He glanced at the plane’s fuel gauge, which told him the tank couldn’t afford a detour to the Arctic right then. It would have to wait. “Well,” Coy concluded innocently, his mind churning with ideas, “there is good fishing up there this time of year.”

  Through it all, a strong bond was developing between the pilot and his passenger. They asked each other question after question and answered them all. For the commander, the truth seemed to have a familiar ring to it—that is, it rang true to him. Each bit of information was either being aligned or realigned in the hard drive of his brain, according to the real story. Coy’s words were filling in the blanks, piecing together the puzzle, and switching on the light bulbs. Jaret vocalized his epiphanic moments with an audible “ah-ha.” By the time Coy landed the floatplane near the shore of Little Tybee, Jaret Cooper was a new man—a renewed man, that is.

  As anxious as Jaret was to see his wife and daughter, Mr. Coy insisted things be done in the proper order.

  “First,” Coy told him as they approached the Manor’s main gate, “we need to get you out of those commander clothes. We don’t want you looking like GI Joe for your big debut tonight, do we?”

  “Who’s GI Joe?” Jaret asked under his breath while Coy instructed the maid on the intercom to open the gate.

  Walking through the gate, Jaret had the usual reaction that most newcomers have when they experience the Manor for the first time: shock and awe, with a kind of what-in-the-world-is-this-place look on his face. In their march to the double doors, Jaret’s pace slowed, too busy staring at the varied styles of architecture and the different plants throughout the grounds.

  Realizing Jaret had fallen behind to take in the Manor’s unique beauty, Mr. Coy smiled with great satisfaction. “Home sweet home,” he rejoiced as he pushed open the double doors.

  Jaret ran to catch up, crossing the threshold and following Mr. Coy across the semicircular foyer.

  Like a child coming home from school, Coy said, “Hi, Mom,” waving at the bust of his mother, which was, of course, hidden from view in the middle of the foyer, thanks to the workings of a Black Mirror. Jaret stuttered in his steps, straining to find this phantom matriarch, but he never did.

  Coy led Jaret deep into the Manor—down two flights of stairs and then up four, through a zigzagging hallway, down a laundry chute, around a large glass tank, briefly along a tightrope, through five sets of doors, up a ladder, and in and out of a long line of ivory pillars. In the course of his tour, Jaret saw a group of bakers shakily carrying a massive wedding cake; he nearly tripped over a team that was waxing the floor; he crossed paths with a butcher chasing a wild turkey, feathers flying everywhere; he found a pair of electricians Velcro-ed to the ceiling, replacing a shorted fuse; he narrowly dodged a kick to his chest from a ninja; and he almost ran into a moose. What’s more, he still had no idea where Mr. Coy’s mother was.

  When they finally stopped, Jaret asked, out of breath, “What is this place?” He thought it was Mr. Coy who was standing next to him, but, as it turned out, it was an Eskimo man, dressed in a puffy suit that made him look like a hamster that had just been electrocuted.

  Now totally beside himself, Jaret shrieked upon seeing the stranger, “Ah!”

  Equally alarmed, the Eskimo man shrieked back, “Ah!”

  Just then, Mr. Coy appeared and calmly said to a frazzled Jaret, “I see you’ve met Mo.”

  “Mo?” Jaret mouthed, surprised to hear such a common name for the exotic man. Mo smiled and waved at Jaret, his hand enclosed in a large mitten.

  “Yeah, you know, as in Eski-mo,” Coy explained. “He’s originally from Greenland, but none of us could pronounce his native Inuit name, so we just started calling him Mo. He’s here at the Manor studying fashion, which he says is his passion even though all we ever see him wearing is that snowsuit.” Mo blushed behind his fuzzy, fur-lined hood. “So, anyhow, he’ll help you pick out some clothes. Then it’s off to dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Jaret questioned.

  “Yes,” Coy replied. “Your sweet wife puts on a lovely dinner in her home each week, and tonight you are the guest of honor. So you’d better look sharp, captain!” Coy moved to leave. “Oh, and Mo,” he said, turning back, “let’s go with something that’s not too Eskimo-ish, okay?” Mo saluted, as best he could in his bulky jacket.

  As it turned out, Mo wasn’t much help. His only input was a silk scarf that Jaret put on out of pure politeness.

  “Nice scarf,” Coy complimented when he came to get Jaret.

  “Thanks,” Jaret muttered. Leaving, the two of them turned to wave to Mo, who, like a great stuffed teddy bear, was grinning from ear to ear to see Jaret wearing the scarf.

  Jaret followed Coy to a nearby elevator, which brought them back to the Manor’s main foyer within a matter of seconds.

  “Why didn’t we just take the elevator in the first place?!” Jaret laughed.

  “And deprive you of your small taste of the Manor?” Coy returned.

  “So what exactly is this place?” Jaret asked as they set off across the grounds toward the new Cooper home. “Is it a…a house?”

  “Though my daughter and I live here,” Coy said, “most of the Manor is dedicated to teaching and training our students. I call them students, but they’re more like family. We’ve got a little bit of everyone here: some were orphaned or homeless, a few were rescued slaves or ex-convicts, many were peasants from third-world countries. Each one represents someone who needed a second chance in life (or a first one) and was willing to change. So we take them in and give them that chance. After they’ve learned a skill or mastered a trade, most of them leave to either enter the workforce or go to school. And, once we’ve helped them become self-reliant, all we ask for in return is that they give back to the Manor in some way, if possible, so that others can benefit like they did.” Then, to answer Jaret’s question, Coy added, “So yes, captain, it’s a house: a house of redemption.”

  For the rest of the trek to the new Cooper home, Jaret walked in silent amazement. For the last few years, the commander’s home had been the forlorn fortress at Water’s Deep, which, in some ways, was similar to this place called Coy Manor. Both were large, mostly underground compounds whose happenings were much mor
e than what met the eye. Both were right on the sea, though neither was well known. Each housed dozens of people and served ornate purposes. And yet, in principle, Waters Deep was the exact opposite of Coy Manor: the former was seeking to ruin the world, the latter was trying to cure it.

  Finally, the two men arrived at the house.

  “Here we are,” Coy announced quietly, stepping up to the door. Jaret quickly made sure his shirt was tucked in, then wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead and started cracking his knuckles.

  “You’re nervous,” Coy playfully pointed out.

  “I’m not nervous,” Jaret quickly denied.

  “Yes, you are,” Coy teased.

  “No, I’m not,” Jaret said, straight-faced. They stood in silence for a moment. Then Jaret turned to Coy and asked, “Is there anything in my teeth?”

  “I’m not going to look at your teeth,” Coy declined.

  “Fine,” said Jaret, looking down to make sure his shoes were tied.

  Coy rang the doorbell.

  Jaret cleared his throat. Then, remembering there was a scarf around his neck, he whisked it off and threw it in the bushes.

  There was no answer, so Coy knocked rather vigorously.

  Glancing around, Jaret observed with slight confusion, “This isn’t the house I remember.”

  “You’re right,” Coy whispered, “Lye blew up your old one.”

  “He did what—”

  Suddenly, Pauline’s voice rang out from inside: “Come in! Come in!”

  Jaret was about to rush inside when Coy stopped him.

  “You wait here,” Coy instructed. It was all Jaret could do to wait even longer.

  Coy opened the door and stepped inside. There was ample evidence that Pauline was cooking in her kitchen: the oven was beeping, the microwave was chiming, a saucepan was boiling over, the range fan was going full blast, there was chopping at the cutting board, the lid of a pot was spinning on the floor, and it seemed every last dish in the kitchen had been dirtied and was now sitting in the sink or on the counter.

  “Hi, Ben!” Pauline shouted above the commotion as she rushed to address something on the stove that was smoking. “The kids are on their way. Make yourself at home.” Just then, something in the microwave exploded.

  Peeking in from the porch, Jaret noticed the chaos and recalled, “Yep, that’s my wife, alright.” Although Pauline was a good chef, sometimes her scatter-brained thought pattern shone through in her cooking.

  “I have someone I want you to meet,” Coy yelled.

  “Yes, the meat’s almost done,” Pauline thought he said, “just needs a few more minutes.”

  “No, I said—”

  “What?!” Pauline hollered, unable to hear Coy above the noise.

  Back on the porch, Jaret was all smiles, “She hasn’t changed a bit!”

  Mr. Coy paraded into the crazy kitchen and silenced everything that was beeping, bubbling, or burning. When order was restored, Coy said, “I have someone I want you to meet.”

  “Oh, well why didn’t you say so?!” Pauline heartily obliged, wiping her hands on her apron. Coy rolled his eyes.

  “You stand here,” he told her, positioning her portly frame a few yards from the doorway.

  “This had better not be another one of your practical jokes, Ben,” Pauline warned.

  “Oh no, quite the contrary, my dear,” Coy told her. Then, when the moment was right, he called out toward the door, “Okay, come in.”

  Just then, Thorne walked in.

  “Did you know there’s a man standing right outside the door?” he announced.

  “Thorne!” Coy howled with frustration. “Step aside!”

  Once Thorne had moved away, Coy restated his command, “Okay, now come in.”

  A tall silhouette appeared on the porch, its person concealed by the evening’s darkness. Pauline’s eyes narrowed without a clue of who to expect. Timidly, Jaret stepped into the house, the soft light revealing his identity.

  For a few moments, the entire scene was frozen in time. Pauline stared wide-eyed at her long-lost husband. There, standing before her, was the sand-colored hair, the sun-kissed skin, the broad shoulders. Oh, and the dimple, where was the—ah, there, just below the cheek. His collared shirt hugged his robust chest, and his smiling lips curled her own, for Jaret was staring just as longingly at his wife. With her coarse brown hair drawn back and her grease-splattered sleeves rolled up, there was the woman of his dreams, with even more stains on her apron than he remembered. There, standing before him, were the work-worn hands, the time-tested values, and the love handles he loved to handle. And, in a way, the misery from their years-long separation was well worth it, for, in that moment, they were falling in love all over again.

  Finally, the two lovers couldn’t stare at each other any longer. With one accord, they rushed together and embraced with a kiss. As they continued to hold each other in their arms, Mr. Coy couldn’t help but shed a tear. He went over to Thorne and told him with a hug, “Isn’t love beautiful?”

  “Yes, it is,” Thorne agreed, “but why are you hugging me?”

  “I don’t know,” Coy said, “I just felt like hugging someone.”

  But the reunion was only half complete, for soon thereafter Ana came running through the door.

  “Dad! Dad!” she cried, throwing herself into her father’s arms.

  “There’s my girl!” Jaret rejoiced, picking her up with a royal spin. “What a beautiful young lady you’ve become!”

  “I can’t believe you’re back,” Ana wept with joy. “What…how…?”

  And so began a truly wonderful evening. Not far behind Ana were Paige and Dusty, followed by their bodyguard Missy. The food was served and the meal enjoyed, just like old times. And, also like old times, there was a colossal mess in the kitchen to clean up—a chore that Jaret had been dreaming of doing for months.

  “Well, Coy,” Thorne said, joining him on the couch as the others carried on with all of the catching up they had to do, “looks like you had a good trip.”

  “Yes, I did,” Coy concurred. “In fact, it was so good that I’m ready for my next one.”

  “Oh?” Thorne chuckled. “And where to this time?”

  “Better break out your long underwear,” Coy told him. “You and I are going to the Arctic!”

  CHAPTER 9

  A LIGHT IN THE NIGHT

  Ret knew it was much too early for dawn. When he had passed through the small kitchen of the Stones’ trailer on his way out the backdoor, he had seen on the microwave that it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. Perhaps the clock had the wrong time, for the scene before him looked like the early indications of sunrise. A couple hundred yards in front of him sat a large hill, much wider than it was tall. It extended far off to the right before it sloped into the flat ground, but to the left it tapered off only slightly before rolling into another hill. There was a faint light outlining the top of the hill so that it looked like the sun was rising behind it. But no matter how much it looked like dawn, Ret knew this was absurd, not only because of the time of day but also because he was looking to the north (not the east, where he knew the sun to rise). He then wondered if there might be a large city on the other side of the hill but quickly dismissed the idea, remembering his remote location.

  A few minutes passed, and the mysterious light seemed to be getting brighter. It even slightly flared up a time or two in random places, coming to life like the head of a struck match and then blowing to the left as a wave, all very slowly. Soon, the entire length of the hilltop was a dark silhouette against the unknown backdrop. The light had a green tint to it, and it glowed more than it shined. Unlike a sunrise, the light was having no effect on the night sky, which was still dark as ever. In fact, Ret could see stars immediately around the light—or the glow, or whatever it was. But if it wasn’t the sun or a city, what was it?

  And then it was gone. In a matter of seconds, it was nowhere to be seen. The light didn’t retreat or simply go bac
k down but rather dissolved and faded away, like a firework burning out in slow-motion.

  Ret was confused, a little disappointed even. He continued to stare up at the sky. Free from the light pollution of a city, he was granted an untainted view into the cosmos. He saw not only stars but entire systems of them, almost the very colors and clouds of nebulae deep within the galaxy. He located the North Star and traced constellations with ease. The Big Dipper seemed close enough that he could reach out, grab its handle, and pour the ladle. Shooting stars were frequent. The sky was so littered that it really did look like a Milky Way.

  Amid so much vastness, Ret couldn’t help but feel insignificant and powerless, like sitting in a one-man dinghy in the middle of the ocean. He recalled learning in science class how some stars are so far away that it takes their light many years to travel through space and be seen on earth. And those were just the stars he could see. He knew there were countless others that remained unseen. But even though he acknowledged his relative nothingness in the universe, Ret found consolation in the truth that the Oracle knew who he was. That clever sphere, too perfect to be manmade yet too symbolic to have been forged by nature, was aware of what he was doing and where he was going. It was like it cared about him—like it needed him, even though it could get along just fine without him. In reality, you see, it was Ret who needed it.

  Ret’s star-gazing and soul-searching lasted a good while. There was so much to look at, so much to think about. The night sky was getting ever darker as the earth continued to turn him further and further away from the sun. It was then, in this darkest hour of the night, when Ret saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was the light! The green glow from earlier was back. In total silence, it reappeared on the horizon, far off to the right, a little ways beyond where the hill met the ground. It rose into the air and began to stretch out across the sky from right to left like a great green rainbow. Its arc passed overhead, then maneuvered between the dip in the hills and kept going out of sight into the night on the other side of the horizon.