The Final Storm: The Door Within Trilogy – Book Three

Wide awake, Aidan tossed and turned in his hotel room bed. He stared at the soft glow underneath the curtain from the outside lights and listened to the hum of the air conditioner. I’m never going to get to sleep! he thought. He turned onto his other side and lifted his head a little. Mom and Dad don’t seem to be having any trouble sleeping.

Aidan tried to see the little alarm clock radio on the bedside table, but it faced his parents’ bed. It cast a red light upon his mother’s face. Aidan felt a chill and looked away.

He shimmied down under the sheets and pulled the bedspread over his head. The day sure hadn’t turned out the way he had hoped. He had wasted most of his time with Robby. And Robby’s father had ruined the rest. Lord Rucifel. Aidan sighed. My best friend’s father is Paragor’s chief warlord—or at least, his Glimpse is. How am I supposed to fight that?

Things hadn’t gone very well with his mother either. When the airport shuttle dropped her off at the motel, she’d practically smothered them both in kisses. That was okay. But later that evening, when Aidan’s father had brought up the subject of King Eliam and the reality of another world, well . . . that was when things had gone sour.

“Everyone grieves in different ways,” Aidan’s mom had said as she slammed shut her suitcase. “And I know losing your father has been hard on you. But, the truth is, you were right to dismiss Grampin’s crazy ideas in the first place. The Realm, Alleble, King Eliam—it’s all the creation of some writer somewhere. You said it yourself . . . it’s a fairy tale.”

Aidan winced. His father gritted his teeth. “I was wrong,” he said sullenly.

“No, you weren’t. You were thinking clearly. You saw that Grampin’s mind was starting to go, and—”

“You think my dad was senile?” he asked. Aidan’s father pulled an old book from his suitcase and held it up like evidence. “He started writing about King Eliam and The Realm in this diary when he was in his thirties!”

That was when they had sent Aidan to fill the ice bucket and get some sodas from the machine at the end of the hall. By the time he returned, the discussion had ended, and an icy quiet had descended on the hotel room.

Aidan shuffled around in bed, trying to get comfortable. But it was no good. He got out of bed and went over to the ice bucket. The sodas were gone. Aidan frowned and stood deep in thought in the darkness. Then, he tiptoed over to his father’s side of the bed.

“Dad?” he whispered. “Dad, can I walk down to the machine and get a soda?”

“Huh?” his father mumbled. He rose slowly on an elbow and glanced across the sleeping form of his wife to the clock. “A soda? It’s eleven thirty.”

“I know, but I can’t sleep, and I’m thirsty.”

“I guess,” Mr. Thomas replied. “Take the room key, and hurry back. And don’t get anything with caffeine in it. Then you really won’t be able to sleep.”

The night air was cool. Maryland was like that in September—hot like summer during the day, but cool like fall at night. Except for the occasional whoosh of cars on the interstate, it was very quiet. Aidan trotted along the walkway. He passed hotel room doors on his left and caught luminous, wavering glimpses of the hotel’s pool on his right.

He stepped up to the soda machine and fumbled through the change in his pocket for five quarters. One at a time, he dropped them in and then scanned for a caffeine-free selection. Looks like ginger ale for me, Aidan thought, and pushed the button. As he reached for his drink he heard behind him a sound like a heavy curtain flapping in the wind. Aidan spun around, glancing toward the blue-green glow of the pool. There was no one there. No breeze either.

Aidan shrugged, uncapped his drink, and took a long sip. A warm breeze washed over him that made chills tiptoe up and down his spine. Then from the pool area came what sounded like a whip cracking. Aidan jumped, dropped his soda, and turned toward the sound. A pale figure stood very still but shimmered as the pool’s undulating surface reflected waves of light over its body. Aidan stepped barefoot into the grass, making his way toward the pale figure. It was a tall girl with long, golden hair. She was dressed in silver armor. Her skin was pale like ivory, and her eyes were luminous blue like the pool.

“Gwenne!” Aidan shouted, and he ran to her. “Gwenne! What are you—how are you . . . I can’t believe it!” They embraced for a moment and each had tears in their eyes when they parted.

“Sir Aidan,” Gwenne said at last with that crooked smile of hers. “It seems you were right.”

Aidan looked at her strangely. “What do you mean?”

“Before you left The Realm that night, you said to me, ‘See you soon!’ And by the favor of our King, here we are.”

“Gwenne,” Aidan said. “I’ve had visions, dreams about you. You looked frightened. And Antoinette—your twin—I fear she is in trouble!”

“And so we both are,” Gwenne replied, “in very grave danger. I have been in your world for just a short time, but I have been constantly assailed by the enemy.”

“Here?” Aidan exclaimed.

“Yes, Aidan,” Gwenne replied. “Did you think that only servants of Alleble could travel to the Mirror Realm? I’ve come by what is called The Thread. It is the last remaining link between your world and mine, and the path the visions travel. But it is traveled by all Glimpse-kind, and within it I was waylaid by those not true to the King. Aidan, it is the way you will return to The Realm.”

Aidan was stunned. “I’m going back?”

“Yes. I was sent to tell you it is the King’s will that you return to The Realm. But I also bring warning: Be wary of all you meet—in this world and in mine. Not everyone is who they appear to be.”

Aidan frowned. He felt strangely like he did the first time he met Gwenne—like everything she said was a riddle.

“What task does the King have for me?”

“I do not know, Aidan,” she said. “But the King has told me you will return on The Thread, and that The Thread has grown unstable—stretched near to its breaking point. Traveling The Thread has become a dangerous journey.”

There came a sudden, alarming sound like the crackle of electricity, and a strange warm breeze blew from somewhere behind Gwenne. And as if a bright light was slowly losing power, Gwenne began to fade.

“Gwenne, what’s happening to you?” Aidan cried. He reached for her, touched her skin, and a shock went up his arm. He immediately jerked his hand back.

“I am being drawn back to The Thread!” Gwenne cried.

“What?” Aidan blurted out. The breeze vanished, and suddenly Gwenne was completely there again. Her hands were trembling.

“Aidan,” she whispered. “Take my hands.” Aidan reached for Gwenne. This time her skin did not shock him. She felt warm.

“Gwenne,” Aidan asked, “what was that?”

“The Thread,” she replied, glancing nervously over her shoulder as if something might be creeping up behind her. “I thought for a moment that the enemy had found me and was pulling me back. I do not understand how The Thread works, so I do not know how much longer I can remain.”

At that moment three things happened simultaneously: someone called Aidan from behind, the warm wind kicked up even stronger than before, and there was a loud snapping sound like a large branch had been broken.

Aidan felt a painful quiver in his hands. It began to burn. Gwenne’s pale skin dimmed and she began to fade. “Aidan!” she shouted. “You must let me go!”

Aidan felt as if he held a white-hot piece of iron, and all the muscles in his arms began to convulse. Still he held on. He felt if he let go, he would lose his friend forever.

“Aidan!” Gwenne’s voice echoed as if she were in another place. “Aidan, let go!”

There was a bright flash, a sound like thunder, and Aidan flew backward up into the air. He landed unconscious in the pool and sank like a stone.

“Aidan! Aidan!” He heard a female voice, but it was not Gwenne’s. Aidan opened his eyes, saw a blurry night sky and then a face.

“Mom?” Aidan whispered. He stared at her. She was soaking wet. Then Aidan realized he too was drenched. “Mom?”

“Oh, Aidan!” His mother hugged him. She began to sob, and her whole body shook. “I thought I lost you. You went under so fast.”

There was a warm hand suddenly on his shoulder. “When Mom pulled you out,” Aidan’s father said, “you weren’t breathing.”

Aidan sat up abruptly, and his mother slowly released him. He was in the grass about ten feet from the pool. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he got there, or how he got wet for that matter.

“Who was that?” Mr. Thomas asked. And then, it all came flooding back. Gwenne . . . The Thread.

Aidan grabbed his mother’s shoulders. “Mom! Did you see her? Did you see Gwenne?!”

Mrs. Thomas shook her head and burst into fresh tears. “I don’t know what I saw, Aidan! I . . . it can’t be real.” Her voice became a choked whisper.

By the time Aidan got out of the warm shower and dressed, his father was already fast asleep. His mom was still awake, her back toward him, apparently reading. Aidan shimmied down into his bed once again. He looked across the room at his mom, and she turned away. But she hadn’t turned fast enough to keep Aidan from seeing she was reading The Story, and open in her lap was Grampin’s diary.