John Schettler - Nexus Point

“You will be if you don’t get down to some serious work, Mister.” Maeve protested again from the next terminal.

Kelly said nothing. He was fishing for something in his wallet, his face furrowed with concern. Maeve turned to see him holding something up to the monitor screen. “Weird!” He exclaimed. “It’s a perfect match! The King of Diamonds—or at least the top half of it.”

Maeve gave him a frown.

“Look,” said Kelly. “It’s the top half of a laminated playing card.“ Kelly was shaking his head, the bill of his baseball cap swinging back and forth, but slowing as he continued to stare at the screen. “We cut the damn thing in half years ago,” he whispered.

“What are you talking about?”

“The card. It was our Red Arrow. I’ve carried this thing around for over two decades and…”

Maeve was looking at him like she was about to reach for something sharp, but he held up a warding hand, begging her forbearance. “Remember your Tolkien, Maeve? Gondor sent the Red Arrow to Rohan as a sign of great need. It was only to be used in the last extreme—a call for all the muster of Rohan to ride to Gondor’s aid.”

“Kelly,” Maeve nearly shouted at him. “The whole world is spinning out of control and you’re wasting valuable time here.”

“You don’t understand,” Kelly defended himself. “Paul and I had this ritual. We took a playing card, the King of Diamonds, and cut the damn thing in half. He kept one half; I kept the other. We made a promise that if we ever received the other half of the card in the mail, it would indicate dire need. It was a token of our friendship, and a summons to render immediate aid—our Red Arrow.”

“Lovely,” said Maeve. “Truly endearing.” She gave him a withering look that said her patience had finally run out.

“Well there’s the top half,” Kelly pointed at his screen. “And I’ve got the bottom half; laminated too… a perfect mate to the card shown in this article!”

“That’s impossible. It’s got to be coincidence.”

The argument was suddenly interrupted by Kelly’s cell phone ringing. He craned his neck toward his briefcase, worried that another alert was coming in from the Golems, but this time it was his green cell phone, jutting from his jacket pocket on the next chair. He reached for it, flipping it open while Maeve folded her arms with a disapproving glare as Kelly listened, his face registering surprise and dismay, then outright shock. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it with a perplexed look on his face.

“That was Nordhausen,” he said. “He sounded really strange. Here, listen to the playback!”

He handed the phone to Maeve and she pressed the replay message button, raising the receiver to her ear. “Kelly? This is Nordhausen. I’m in trouble. No time to explain. It’s Paul! He’s shifted in time! I’m not sure how, but he’s gone. Look up something called the Gate of the West. Can’t say any more. Rasil is back—” The message cut off abruptly and the two of them locked eyes, the surprise and shock flowing from Kelly to Maeve.

Kelly held out the bottom half of his playing card and, for the first time, Maeve looked at the image on the screen. It was a perfect mate.

Jabr leaned close,his dark eyes searching Paul’s face with a look akin to longing. “Tell me, Do-Rahlan, are you a king; a lord of many lands?”

“What? Why would you ask a thing like that, Jabr?”

They sat in a hidden chamber within the sanctuary of the library, and Jabr had fired coals in a low iron brazier to heat water for coffee and a meager meal. Jabr had rubbed warm oil on a few scratches Paul had suffered in his fall. His left shoulder and back had taken the worst, but it was nothing that would not heal in a few days time.

“Would you wear rich robes in your homeland, and place a golden crown upon your head?” Jabr’s eyes brightened with the light of discovery, his head cocked to one side, bent by curiosity.

“You’re really are serious, aren’t you?”

“And would you wield a great axe in need, the bane of all your enemies? Tell me, is it so? Is that why you were chosen to pass the Well of Souls?”

Paul smiled. “Jabr, I’m afraid that you are as much a mystery to me as I may seem to you most of the time. To answer you truly, no, I am not a great king. I have no lordly robes and there’s never been much of anything on my head but this unruly mop of hair. Why would you ask such things?”

Jabr, hesitated, as if he were trying to decide what to do. Then his expression warmed and he spoke. “Because of the token you carried.” His voice lowered and he turned his head, watching the entrance of the room with suspicion.

“Token? What are you talking about?”

“Forgive me, Do-Rahlan. I have done a thing that may be cause for my death.” He reached in his robes and drew out a small object, his hand unsteady as he handled it, as though he was afraid it would bite. Paul leaned forward to see what he held and a broad grin crossed his face.

“Well I’ll be… Where did you get that? You found that in my pocket, yes?”

“I do not know what possessed me,” said Jabr, his voice laden with contrition. “It is written that all clothing and effects of the Walkers should be gathered and burned in the forge of purity.” Again he cast a sidelong glance at the arched doorway. “I was bearing these things away and this object must have slipped from the bundle. I came upon it in the corridor an hour later, and thought it very strange. Indeed, I should have taken it to the fire at once, but… something gave me pause. I stared at it, as though charmed, and saw it was the image of a lordly king with a golden crown set upon his head. He was dressed in finery of many colors, and his eyes were fixed fast upon a great red diamond where a hand reached to grasp it by his shoulder. Behind the king’s head was an axe with a sturdy red haft.” He handed the object to Paul, his hand shaking visibly now.

Paul took it with a smile. “And you believed it to be some token or talisman, did you? You thought this was my image on the card?”

“It was forbidden to withhold such a thing,” said Jabr, “but it was so alluring that I could not bear to cast it away. Is it magic?”

“Magic? No. It’s just the King of Diamonds—or half of one. My friend Kelly has the other half. We cut it in two and laminated the halves so they would last longer. It was a sign of our bond to one another, and the promise of our friendship.”

“Then this friend of yours was a great sorcerer! I have never seen glass worked to such a thickness. It bends, but does not break!”

“Glass? You mean the plastic lamination?” Paul realized that Jabr would not know what he was talking about and changed his tack. “Yes, he is quite the wizard, my friend,” he said. “I would surely like to see him now, Jabr, because I think I’m in a bit of a fix here. I’m still not exactly sure how I got here, but yet, here I am… and there you are, and Taki ad Din is riding south in the night.” He folded his arms, a vacant expression on his face. “I don’t belong here, Jabr. You understand? I’m out of place, lost, and I don’t know how I’ll get home.”

Jabr’s eyes mirrored the forlorn expression on Paul’s face. “Then you know what lies ahead,” he said softly. “You know the fate that awaits you?”

“Me? My friend, I know the fate that awaits many, all of us, in fact. If I thought about it long enough I could quote you chapter and verse—all the history yet to come, the wars, the famine, the great deeds of kings, and the soaring muse of poets and scholars. I could tell you stories for hours on end, of all that might be—a regular Nostradamus.” Paul sighed heavily. “But my lips must remain forever sealed,” he said sullenly. “I cannot speak a word of the things I have seen; the things I know. My very presence here is an insult in time, an offence, a great transgression…”