Otherlander: Through the Storm Read online

  Otherlander

  Through the Storm

  T. Kevin Bryan

  For Linda and Hayden

  Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.

  Ephesians 6:13

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  About the Author

  Also by T. Kevin Bryan

  One

  “Yank, go home!” the pitcher taunted. Thomas stood holding his cricket bat in front of the wickets. His sky-blue eyes glared back and he tightened his grip.

  “Bowl him out, Arnie!” added one fielder as they all adjusted their positions, waiting for the captain of their team to throw the ball at the wickets.

  Thomas couldn’t help but remember how he used to feel about this game: Frightened of the ball, unsure of the rules, the last kid picked to play on a team, he would have rather died than play cricket last year. But this was a whole new year. And he felt like a whole new Thomas.

  He had been gone only a week in Earth days. But Thomas felt as if he had lived a lifetime in N’albion, somewhere beyond the mist, somewhere on the other side of the storm. Forced through fear and compelled by love to search for his missing father, the brilliant professor of archaeology, Dr. Daniel Colson, Thomas had solved the combination to the stone circle known in ancient Scotland as “Mairead Fhada” and to the local people now as “Long Meg and her Daughters.” It had catapulted him through the portal into another place —a medieval world filled with noble warriors that rode dragons and their archenemies, the dark shadow warriors.

  If he knew then what he knew now: the dangers he would experience, the terrifying battles he would endure, would he have gone? He had to believe that he would. What other choice was there? Thomas thanked God that he found his father and they both made it home safe to his mother. He couldn’t bear to think of what it would have been like to face his mother if he had come home empty-handed. He banished that thought from his head. God did answer his prayer and brought both Thomas and his father safely home.

  And now there was something else that brought great joy to his family. His mother was pregnant. He was going to be a big brother. The baby was due around Christmas. Pretty awesome present. He couldn’t help but smile at that. England wasn’t so bad after all.

  “What are you grinning about, Thomas?” taunted the pitcher.

  Thomas smirked at the English kid. “This Yank is about to go home… run!”

  Arnie rolled his eyes at the American baseball reference, then wound up, took three quick steps, leaped into the air and hurled the ball. It took a bounce a few feet before reaching Thomas. Thomas swung with all his might. The bat connected with a crack and the ball streaked into the sky.

  The fielders scrambled further back, back, back as they followed the arc of the ball until they bounced off the outfield fence. Their hearts sank as the ball dropped in the grass ten feet on the other side. Thomas’s team cheered crazily and rushing, hoisted him onto their shoulders.

  “That counts for six runs!” Harry complained, slamming his hat on the ground and sending up a cloud of dust.

  Arnie watched as Thomas’s rejoicing team carried him off the field.

  “Funny, that.”

  “What?” Harry said, picking up his hat with a frown.

  “It’s like the Yank is a whole new Yank.”

  Two

  Thomas strolled away from the lads, pretty proud of himself. Lads. He chuckled. After living in England for a year and a half, he dropped his American slang. No longer were they “dudes,” they were “mates.” Not “kids” but “lads.” He even enjoyed the weather here. In California, there were only two seasons; spring and summer. He now relished living in a place with four seasons. The fall, crisp, mornings when he could see his breath condense out in front of his face as he walked to school, invigorated him. He enjoyed pulling on a sweater, or jumper as they called it here, and wrapping a scarf around his neck. Thomas took to wearing an English flat cap given to him by his father’s good friend and colleague from the university, Dr. Leland Marcus. He had even gotten used to the stiff school uniform jacket and found that putting it on in the morning prepared him for the day to be a scholar. Anytime he thought of his books, it always made him think of his parents. He inherited his love of reading from his dad, who kept stacks and stacks of books everywhere in the house. As an archaeologist and historian, he told Thomas you spend more time in libraries reading and writing papers and combing through dusty books looking for clues than in adventurous lands digging up old dinosaur bones or searching for lost cities.

  Now that his dad was home, Thomas’s school work improved. Most evenings found him spread out on the floor doing his homework with papers and books surrounding him, his mother sitting on the sofa working on another manuscript with a cup of hot coffee next to her and his dad at the dining table working on his latest project. His father and mother were both serious academics, pursuing what his father referred to as the “life of the mind.” Thomas smiled as he remembered how his dad always told him his laptop computer was a “tool, not a toy.”

  Thomas turned at the next corner and cut across on Bristol Street. There was a quaint shop there that sold chips, the English kind. What he used to call “French fries.” At first, when he moved to England, he missed regular old American French fries. But now he guessed his taste buds had changed. Twice a week he treated himself to a bag of hot chips and ate them on his walk home. Today would be a go
od day to get some. He deserved it because of that six-point hit he made in cricket.

  As Thomas moved along the cobblestone streets, he admired the little tan stone cottages snuggled beside each other. Here and there Christmas lights were up and they twinkled in the cloudy early dusk. He felt like he was living in one of those little Christmas villages, the kind his grandmother used to put out on her coffee table sitting on a bed of white cotton. He crossed the ancient bridge that spanned Avebury creek and in two more blocks came to McCoy’s Fish and Chips shop. Thomas smelled the delightful aromas wafting down the street from the shop. His mouth watered, expecting the salty taste of the chips.

  “Hello, Thomas,” said an elderly gentleman sweeping the sidewalk in front of the shop.

  “Hello, Mr. McCoy.”

  Mr. McCoy stopped and leaned on his broom, adjusting the pipe in his teeth. He let out a puff which made a white halo around his ruddy bald head. “Today was the big game, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir, it was.”

  “How did you do?”

  “We won,” Thomas replied matter-of-factly.

  Mr. McCoy leaned forward on his broom and gave a sly grin. “Precision, Thomas, precision. I asked, how did you do?”

  Thomas laughed. “Well, if you put it that way, I made the game-winning hit. Over the right field fence. A six-pointer, if you must know.”

  “Ah, lad, you make an old man proud. We’ll make a proper Englishman out of you yet.”

  From inside the shop, a woman’s voice with a lovely lilt called. “Oh, McCoy, stop yer yammering and let a boy alone.”

  Mrs. McCoy stepped out of the shop door. “He’ll catch his death of cold listening to you go on.” She adjusted her apron around her ample waist and handed Thomas a paper bag full of hot fresh chips. “That’ll keep you warm on yer way ‘ome.”

  Thomas reached in his pocket to retrieve his cash.

  “No, you don’t, Thomas,” Mr. McCoy said. “The wife and I are sponsoring our star cricket player today.” Mr. McCoy swung his broom at an imaginary ball with a wink.

  “Thank you, Mr. McCoy.”

  “I shook a little malt vinegar on them, just the way you like,” the matron beamed. “We’ll make a proper Englishman of you yet.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Thomas smiled. He took the bag and popped a chip in his mouth.

  “Now, you best be scurrying on ‘ome,” exhorted Mrs. McCoy.

  Thomas agreed as he noticed the darkening sky and felt the first bit of mist on his face. He waved and headed up the street.

  Mr. McCoy called after him as he squinted up at the gathering gray clouds, “Looks like a storm is coming.”

  Three

  Thomas studied the growing dark clouds with concern. A light drizzle fell upon the landscape. Soon everything would drip. In the dusky light, the street shone black like a river. Thomas wasn’t too worried. It was always drizzling somewhere in England; he thought as he popped another chip into his mouth. The temperature steadily dropped and the chill in the air made steam rise out of his bag of hot chips.

  Then he felt it. That inescapable sensation that someone was watching him. He shivered. He peered back down the cobblestone street from where he had come. Nothing. He tried to shake the feeling, but it wouldn’t leave. As he crossed one alley, he heard something. Rustling. Then the sound of padding feet coming up from the alley toward him. Thomas picked up the pace. His house was only about 4 blocks away, positioned on the edge of their tiny village of Little Salkeld. He told himself that he was being silly, but now the dark clouds had completely hidden the setting sun and shadows seemed to be everywhere. There it was again. The muffled sound of footsteps behind him. He turned to run and tripped over his feet, sprawling onto the street just as a trash can clattered out of the alley behind him followed by a large black dog. The dog approached him slowly, growling, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. Thomas scooted back crab-like never taking his eyes off of the animal.

  Then a group of schoolgirls burst around the corner, chatting happily. They trilled as they saw the large black dog. One of them immediately stooped down and before Thomas could warn her of the impending attack began to pet the canine, cooing over the beast like he was a little puppy. The dog’s snarl immediately disappeared, replaced with sloppy licks as his tail thumped the ground happily. Thomas stood, relieved for a moment and unsure of himself. Was this the same dog? The one that moments ago was ready to rip him to shreds?

  The girl petting the dog looked up and noticed Thomas standing there. “Oh, I love your dog. He’s just fantastic!”

  The dog rubbed his large body against Thomas’s leg, tail wagging like a metronome the entire time.

  “Yeah, he’s great, isn’t he?” Thomas responded, dumbfounded.

  Then he felt a tug at his hand and realized the dog was eating his leftover chips.

  Before he could react, the dog snatched the limp bag of chips from his hand and loped down the alley into the darkness.

  Thomas peered after him, puzzled.

  “What’s his name?” another girl asked.

  “Ugh… Blackie.”

  “That’s nice.”

  And with that, the girls were off giggling down the street.

  Thomas watched them go. He shrugged his shoulders. “That was weird.”

  He turned and marched up the cobblestone street toward his house, frustrated now that his chips were gone and he always saved the biggest ones for last.

  Four

  “Mom, I’m home!” Thomas yelled. He threw his backpack on the couch and kicked his shoes off at the door.

  “Mom?”

  Silence.

  The episode with the dog left him a little skittish. He walked into the kitchen. Nothing. “Mom?” Weird. She usually greeted him at the front door. Thomas heard a noise from upstairs. He padded up the stairs, his sock feet not making a sound. He rounded the corner and bumped right into his mother.

  Caroline Colson stumbled back with a gasp and clutched her heart. She was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a pony tail and her rounded belly evidenced her soon coming baby.

  “Thomas, my goodness, you scared me to death!” She exclaimed, attempting to catch her breath. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  She spoke a little too loud. Thomas reached up and gently pulled the earbuds from her ears.

  A little embarrassed, she gave Thomas a hug.

  “Sorry, honey, I was listening to your father’s latest lecture.”

  “That’s okay,” said Thomas.

  “Come here, I want to show you something.”

  Thomas followed his mother down the hallway and turned into the little room on the left.

  “Taadaa!” Caroline said with a flourish.

  “Wow, Mom,” Thomas said as he surveyed his mother’s handiwork. The room that had been previously filled with boxes from their move was cleared out now and painted a beautiful shade of blue. Stuffed animals lined the shelves near a crib. Over the crib, “Now I lay me down to sleep…” was stenciled in flowing script.

  “It looks great, Mom. Aidan is going to love it.”

  “Yeah, it looks good, doesn’t it? If I don’t say so myself.” Caroline sighed and looked down at her watch. “Is that the time? Is it really 5:45?”

  Thomas nodded. “Sorry I’m late, Mom. Today was our last game. Stopped off at the McCoy’s for some chips. And there was this weird dog….” Thomas stopped mid-sentence. His mother wasn’t listening. She was staring out the window toward the street in front of the house, her brow creased by lines of concern. He was familiar with those lines. They always appeared when she worried.

  “Your father should be home by now.” Caroline’s voice trailed off to a whisper. “It looks like a storm is coming.” Her hands moved to her pregnant belly and began rubbing.

  Thomas recognized the gesture. It was as if his mother was trying to shield his unborn brother from the dangers of the outside world.

  Thomas stepped clos
er. “It’s okay, Mom.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Dad will be home soon.”

  Caroline relaxed a little and smiled. “Thank you, honey. When did you turn from a little boy into a strong young man? Soon I’ll be outnumbered around here.” She rubbed her belly again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with three men in the house.”

  “You’ll manage, you always do,” replied Thomas with a wry grin.

  Caroline ordered, “Go! Get out of that school uniform and wash up for dinner.”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” Thomas gave his mother a smart salute, stepped into his room and closed the door.

  He hung up his school uniform jacket and changed quickly into comfortable clothes: faded jeans and a cotton pullover. Lightning lit up the sky outside his bedroom window, and Thomas stepped to the pane to peer at the gathering clouds.