Zak Saturday is spending a summer on the island elyon that he was last at 4 years ago. He gets to see his old friend Alexa and and warvold. But what dark secrets lie behind the wall that protects them. The dark hills hold many dark secrets and the land of elyon will never be the same again. if you have ever read the book the land of elyon book 1 the well this is like it.
Alexa's POV
"Stop shivering or we'll have to go back to the fire" Said my companion. he removed his, large, thick cape and draped it over my shoulders. I had to hold it up just so it would not drag on the street, but it felt good, and my last shivers quietly subsided.
The sun had set, and the lamps glowed above the street with sharp yellow spears, one every twenty feet on both sides along our way. Illuminated by the soft light, the cobblestone paths made for a dreamy stroll. As we rounded each new corner we were greeted by another twisting row of lamps, houses, and small storefronts. Some of the doors were painted bright blue or purple, but the houses themselves, crammed tightly together, were all whitewashed stone.
We walked together, not saying a word. The town was quiet except for the occasional distant hoot of a perching night owl atop the wall as it seared for rats and other vermin. Down at the end of a darkened footpath we arrived at a locked iron gate. He produced a golden key from his pocket and drew it to a small oval container hanging from a chain around his neck- a locket i had seen many times. I watched as he opened the container and removed another key. He was our leader, the man how had ventured farther then the rest of us into the mysteries of the outside world. It made sense that he would be the keeper of a hidden key. He was the keeper of so much of our history and so many of our deepest secrets. I watched as he inserted the key into a lock on the gate and swung it open on its rusty hinges.
He disappeared into the darkness, calling me to follow quietly. I groped for his hand, which he took in his, and we walked farther, his cape now dragging behind me. He stopped, took my hand out of his, opened it full, and pulled it forward until i felt the smooth surface of rock still warm from the day's cooking. Reaching as high as i could, i felt a seam and then more rock.
"It' the wall" he said 'i thought you might enjoy touching it" Except for his breathing i heard nothing. After awhile he continued. "I spent my youth building this wall to keep dangerous things away. I sometimes wonder now if i have kept them inside"
"Why would you say that?" I could make out his features as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was deep in thought, staring at the wall as he moved his delicate fingers across the seam. Lines ran along his weathered face, and the hair from his head and beard tangled together into a fluffy, white mass.
"I tell you what, Alexa- why don't we sit a spell and i'll tell you a tale. We need to stay low or old kotcher will get his dogs to come looking for a nibble"
He had reputation for conjuring up frightening tales about giant spiders crawling over the wall to eat children, so naturally i was concerned. "What sort of story are you going to tell" I asked.
"Actually, it's more of a fable. I heard it a long time ago, during my travels, before all of this" He swept his hand in front of him, a far-off look in his eye. "Most people don't know how much i traveled when i was young. I walked for miles and miles in every direction for months on end, all alone.
"But Renny and then nicolas came along, and i grew more and more protective. I had terrible fears of being away from them, so i stayed close to home. Before long i was building these walls to protect my family and everyone else"
Both of us were sitting now, and he looked me in the eye as he continued. "You remember one thing, Alexa. If you make something your life's work, make sure it's something you can feel good about when you're an old relic like me" He paused, either for effect or because he had forgotten what he was about to say- I wasn't sure wich. Then he resumed.
"When i was on one of my far off journeys, i heard this fable. I liked it so much i memorized it." And then he told me it, and it went like this.
It was six men of indstan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the elephant,
Though all of them was blind,
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind
the first approached the elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
and at once he began to bawl:
"God bless me! But the elephant
Is very like a wall"
The second, feeling of the tuck,
Cried, "Ho! What have we here?
So very round and smooth and sharp,
To me it's mighty clear
This wonder of an elephant
Is very like a spear!"
The third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake
"I see" said he, The elephant
Is very like a snake.
The fourth reached out an eager hand,
and felt about the knee.
"What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain" said he
"Tis clear enough the elephant
Is very like a tree"
the fifth who chanced to touch the ear,
said: "Even the blindest man
can tell what this resembles most;
deny the fact who can,
this marvel of an elephant
is very like a fan!"
The sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast grope,
then, seizing on the swinging tail,
that fell within his scope,
"I see" said he "The elephant
is very like a rope"
And so these men of indostan
disputed loud and long,
each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong'
though each was partly in the right
and all was in the wrong
"Not bad for an absentminded old man" he said "Stop being so gloomy. I think you have a fine memory"
"Alot of secrets are held inside these walls; a lot more are roaming around outside" He said ominously. "I think the two are about to meet"
He mumbled something else about "Them being right all along" but he was quieter now, muttering to himself.
We continued to sit and lisen to the evening wind blow. Something about his words- something about this night- crept under my skin and made me shiver even harder than before. something felt very wrong. Something bigger than me.
" I'm getting cold, can we go now?" I asked.
He gave me no reaply, and as i glanced up at him on that clear, cold night, it was obvious at once that Warvold was dead.
Still Alexa's POV
I was 11 years old, Short for my age, with skinny arms and knobby knees. My father often joked that he could fit my forarms through his wedding ring ( Sadly it was only a slight exaggeration ). I had sandy colored hair, wich i kept in a braid nealy all the time.
A few hours before warvold's death, I was traveling with my father from our home town in lathbury to bridewel. We lived on an island called elyon were secret whatever they are called come alot but the one's i like the best are the saturday faimly. Last time i saw them was 4 years ago but dad said they might come again this year.
Being a 11 year old girl lacking adventure, our annual trip there was the most anticipated time of the year for me. it had been a quite day on the road, though hot beyond for so early in the summer.
In bridewell there was a building that at one time was a prison. A work camp, really, where the vagrants and convicts from our town used to be kept. During the day, The prisoners would go outside the wall, doing the hard labor their sentences required.
When i say wall i do not mean the prisen wall, although that wall did exist. The wall i am speaking of is the one that surrounded all of bridewell, which encircled not only the village and the old prison, but stretched out along each side of the roads leading to the three cities of Lathbury, Turlock, and Lunenburg. Our kingdom was a wagon wheel made of stone. Bridewell sat at it's hub, with the other 3 towns on the end of the 3 spokes. On the afternoon before Warvold's death, we were travleing on the Lathbury spoke on our way to Bridewell.
The walls loomed above us on both sides of the road, holding in the heat like a long, Skinny oven. I was hot, and bored.
"Father?"
"Yes, Alexa?"
"Tell me the story of how they built the walls."
"Haven't you grown tired of that old legend yet?"
Of course, i knew very well he enjoyed telling it. My father had a great love for storytelling, and this was one of his favorites. I didn't have to wait long for him to begin.
"Thomas Warvold was an orphan. On the day of his 13 birthday he wandered off from his home town, all of his belongings in a single knapsack. For years no one knew or cared were he had gone. A seemingly worthless child with no parents and no future to speak of, it's doubtful anyone even knew he was gone. But he was a spirited boy, smart and full of adventure. Much later, after he became famous, there were those who speculated he was an aimless wanderer for 20 years or more, gathering treasures from far off places in The Land Of Elyon. Others suggested he lived in the wilds of the enchanted forest and mountains beyond these very walls. In any case, it would seem that he grew to be a forceful leader, for eventully he persuaded others to join him in a place most everyone believed was haunted, dark, and dangerouse."
The sound of horse claps echoed off the towering walls as we advanced on Bridewell, and my father paused to scratch the golden stubble on his chin. He was a big man with red hair, long and twisted and tangled. In the winter he wore a beard, but the summers proved too much for him and he took solace in the cold relief of a shaven face.
"As Warvold began to thrive and prosper, more people became convinced that the area was indeed safe to live in, and so they came. The valley where Warvold first settled, which is now called lunenburg, eventually filled up to capacity and provided no room for growth. High mountains rose on either side. On one end of the tight valley was already established town of Ainsworth. On the other lay the uncharted dangers and scary legends of the wilderness. When yet more families moved into town, Warvold decided it was time to expand."
"The north held giant mountains, the east forest, the west was covered in what came to be know as The Dark Hills. The people of lunenburg were afraid to venture out past the valley and into the wild."
"It was then Thomas Warvold had the most wonderful idea."
My father stopped talking as a cart passed ours, kicking up dust with its two horses.
"Dear me, so sorry, Mr. Daley. I didn't realize-" the driver stammered as he went by. He was upset about carelessly overtaking the mayor of Lathbury and his daughter.
His carriage was almost past ours when my father whipped our two horses and yelled "Hya! Hya!" We quickly came neck and neck with the other cart, leaving about three feet at either side of the wall. My father gave the rival driver a wicked look of proclaimed, "I've not lost a race on the road Bridewellin five years!"
I was almost thown from my seat by the thrust of the powerful horses as the race plunged into action. Our opponent, frothing with excitement at racing someone as inportant as my father, stayed with us for quite a long time. Dust filled the air and the furious sound of hooves and wheels churned down the road.
The walls flew alongside us, strentching into the sky for what seemed like miles. In reality, they were forty-two feet tall and made of three-foot-square stone blocks.
I thought the wall extending all the way to Lathbury and to Turlock, which were butted up and walled in against The Lonely Sea, where fierce, mist-covered waves break against the soaring cliffs. The River Roland also ran throgh our land, so named for the only man known to have crossed it (a man whom no one had seen or herad from since). The river was a wide and powerful mass of fast-moving water, fed by mountains in yet-uncharted lands.
Lost in my thoughts, i had taken my attention away from the race. When my father pulled hard on the reins to slow the horse, my slight frame nearly flew forward off the cart.
"What a pleasant diversion," my father proclaimed as the challenger trotted his horses up beside us, covered from head to toe in dirt. "A shame about the dust."
"Quite all right, sir, quite all right. My horses are not what they used to be, but they gave it all they had,"the man said. He was doing his best to shake himself off while we continued down the road.
"What brings you to Bridewell on this wretchedly hot day?" my father questioned.
"Actually, i'm off to Turlock, delivering the weekly mail from Lathbury"
"Have you a name"
"Silas Hardy, at your service." He had finished dusting himself off and smiled back at us with a bright, white teeth against a dark tanned face.
"Well, Silas, how about you escort us the rest of the way to Bridewell? I wouldn't want to leave with those unreliable animals dragging you into town. Besides, i'm just telling my daughter about the wall and how it was built. An enjoyable story you might as well sit on."
Silas looked up at the walls on both sides and the hot sun above, beads of sweat ran down his temples.
"I've heard it many times, sir, but i'm hot and bored and my horses are too tired to outrun you. Let's hear it again," He wiped the sweat off from his temple and rested his elbows on his kneea, holding the reins loosely in his large, meaty hands.
Father resumed the story. "As i was saying before our new friend Silas joined us, Warvold had a problem. More people were immigrating to Lunenburg: pioneers, miners, merchants, and families. Many came to the valley looking for a better live, and the poor little town quicky became overcrowded.
"Then one day Warvold had an idea. A tremendous idea. He would build a walled road into the unknown, and at the end ofit he would build a new town. as long as the wall was in front of the people, the enchanted dangers that lurked about could be kept away." And then with a comical dark look, father added, "Only, who would build the wall? Surely the people of Lunenburg were to afraid to stand outside, or near the edge, which is what would be required to build such a thing."
the next chapter will explain the rest and it will kick the story off! Review!