There was a harsh squeal of brakes as an open-top jeep and bright green moped skidded to a simultaneous halt, throwing soil around and sending dead leaves swirling up into the air. Allie closed her book and folded her hands on the cover, pursing her lips as she watched her adopted brother and father climb off and out of their respective vehicles, wearing identical grins.

"Did you enjoy your race?" she asked with a deceptively bright smile. Billy removed his helmet, running his fingers through his thick brown mop of hair, and shared a happy glance with his dad.

"You bet we did!" he exclaimed. "Dad's car is faster, of course, but I've got the advantage of maneuverability." Mr. Stone clapped his son on the shoulder, pulling him to his side and nodding in vigorous agreement.

"I still can't believe how much speed you coax out of that little thing, though," he said, and turned to the fourteen-year-old girl waiting on the porch. "It was like trying race a speedy little bug on wheels."

"Splendid." Allie crossed her arms, staring down at the two of them. "I vote one of you gets to clean the porch." She swept her arm in a wide gesture, indicating the mess thrown up by the tires of their vehicles. Dry leaves and dirt clods littered the floor, mud was spattered all across the steps, and loam clung to everything.

The two culprits looked at each other guiltily, and Mr. Stone spoke up. "Don't worry sweetie, I'll clean the porch - and I tell you what, while I'm doing that, you could make some salad and rolls, and if Billy will make his barbecue sauce, we'll have grilled ribs tonight. We can watch a movie and make a family holiday of it."

Delighted whoops greeted this suggestion, and the two friends raced into the house, their father yelling after them.

"Don't forget to wash your hands first!"


Fourteen year old boys do not, as a general rule, make good housekeepers, and Billy Stone was no exception. His room could hardly be called tidy, he slacked about doing chores, and his cooking attempts wouldn't have inspired confidence in a starving tramp. But, by some strange quirk of fate, he had one culinary feather in his proverbial cap - his barbecue sauce. The thick condiment was the perfect combination of sweet, rich, and tangy, and, in the Stones' opinions, it added the final touch to a perfect evening.

Billy and his father were sprawled side by side on the living room floor, watching a documentary of ancient architecture on the - in Billy's opinion - equally ancient television set. Allie sat cross-legged nearby, perusing Mohea's journal and casting an occasional glance at the screen when something interesting was mentioned.

The boy rolled onto his side, propping himself on his elbow and nibbling a cold but still tasty roll. "That's not right," he remarked through a mouthful of bread. "Gothic architecture only lasted into the sixteenth century, not the seventeenth, and the Gothic Revival didn't come about 'til the seventeen hundreds. I think they're getting mixed up." Mr. Stone chuckled.

"Cut them some slack, Billy," he said. "Not everyone is an architect."

"No, but these people are supposed to be historians!" his son retorted, gesturing wildly at the old TV. "How're you supposed to trust these documentaries when they don't even get the facts right?"

"You have to take any history you hear with a grain of salt," the archaeologist said sagely. "Including the fact that Gothic architecture died out, for the most part, in the sixteenth century." Billy rolled his eyes.

"Dad," he said, his voice heavy with exaggerated patience, "I know you can't trust everything you hear. That," he flicked his hand at the screen again, "is proof. But when the vast majority of historians claim something and one single person claims something different, I'm more likely to believe the mass."

"Many an innocent man has been executed for crimes he did not commit because of the masses," was his father's rejoinder. The boy stared at him, askance, ignoring the offensively inaccurate documentary as it droned away in the background.

"We're not talking about criminals, we're talking about architecture! Are you saying you believe the Gothic style lasted into the seventeenth century?"

"I'm not saying anything of the sort," Mr. Stone answered. "I'm just saying-"

"Billy?" Allie's voice, unusually high-pitched, cut across him. She'd been paying little to no attention to their conversation for the past few minutes, opting instead to read the antiquarian journal. Now, she was staring at a page with a strange expression on her round face. "Billy, come look at this."

Curiosity aroused, Billy dutifully went over to his adopted sister, his father right behind peered over the girl's shoulder at the page and the untidy words scrawled thereon.

Billy,
We need you and Allie. Cobra is back. We don't know how, but we need your help.
Mohea

Mr. Stone stared at it in consternation. "What in the world?" he exclaimed. The children ignored him.

"Billy, what do you think it means?" Allie asked anxiously. Her adopted brother was staring at the dark words in shock.

"What do you mean, 'what does it mean'?" he answered. "It means exactly what Mohea said - Cobra is somehow still alive, and he's come back to the village! Allie," he peered closer, "is that written in blood?" The girl squinted down at the writing and gave a low gasp.

"It is!" she said, her voice scared. "You don't think- Do you suppose she was injured?"

"Will someone please explain to me what is going on here?" their father demanded. Again, he was paid no attention.

"She must have been," Billy said grimly, feeling a twinge of anger at the thought of Cobra's men hurting the beautiful young woman. "Unless it's someone else' blood." Allie traced the letters with her finger and shuddered.

"How could Cobra be back?" she asked, raising her blue-grey eyes to her brother's face. "You dropped him in his own fire pit - how could he have survived that?"

"You did what to who in the where now?!"

Billy's face was creased in a frown, his mind spinning. "Allie..." he said slowly, ignoring his father, "Mr. Cobb was a descendant of Cobra, but Cobra didn't have a wife when he died, right? So Mr. Cobb doesn't exist. He'd have to have existed for me to wish us back in time last year - but he doesn't. Which means we never went back in time, which means..." He looked at his sister, his own horror mirrored on her face as she reached the same conclusion he had.

"We never defeated Cobra."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment before a crashing clang startled them out of their horrified stupor. They both jumped and looked at their father, who pushed aside the metal bowl he'd dropped..

"Y'all had better stop pretending I'm invisible and explain to me what's going on right now," he said, his voice taking on "the dad tone", as Billy called it, a tone that brooked no argument from anyone.

Allie looked at the boy, who shifted uncomfortably before raising his eyes to mean his father's gaze. "Dad, you remember that story we told you last year? About how we got transported into the past by King Kei- by King Huko's medallion?"

"What about it?" Mr. Stone asked suspiciously.

"It was true, I swear it! The medallion really works, it really grants wishes!" Billy insisted. "The girl who wrote this journal, Mohea" he picked the book up off of Allie's lap and waved it at his father, "we met her. I told her she would write before she ever even started, so she knew we'd end up with her book." He looked down at it, the worry clearly evident in his brown eyes. "She wrote this message to me and Allie, knowing it would end up in our possession two hundred years later." His voice dropped a few octaves, as if he were now talking more to himself than his family. "She's in trouble. They all are. And we've got to help them."

"Billy..!" Allie made an impatient noise. "We can't go back in time again, we barely escaped with our lives the first time!" She made a helpless gesture with her hands, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she always did when agitated. "I don't like to think about anything bad happening to Huko and Mohea and Anui and all the rest, either, but don't you see? It's already happened! It occurred and was over with two centuries ago!"

"Maybe it isn't," Billy retorted. "Maybe time is like...like a road, along which all times are happening simultaneously, but just at different points along the..." he waved his hand, trying to think of the right word, "stretch. They could all be alive still, back in what is, for us, two hundred years ago."

"Even if that's true, what can we do?" the girl demanded. "We don't even have the medallion anymore." Her brother looked grim.

"We'll have to borrow it back from the museum," he answered. "And if they won't let us hold it, we're going to have to steal it."

"Steal it? Steal the medallion?" She gave him a look that plainly said she thought he was crazy. "You can't be serious! It's a locally famous historical artifact on display in the museum under impenetrable security lasers and sensors, with hundreds of cameras monitoring it twenty four hours a day! We can't just waltz in and steal it!"

"Allie, you don't get it!" Billy exclaimed angrily. "My mother was a direct descendant of Huko's. If something happens to him and he dies before he has a son, I will cease to exist!"

A few moments of ringing silence followed his sobering statement. Then, "Alright," Allie said in a small voice. "We have to get the medallion somehow."

"I'll ask the curator first thing in the morning," Mr. Stone said. "We're going to try to avoid stealing, if at all possible."

"We don't have 'til morning, Dad," his son said quietly. "Huko could be dead before then. You'll have to call the curator this evening." The archaeologist hesitated, then nodded.

"Alright. I'll do it now." He exited the room, leaving the two children to wait in tense silence.


"What do you mean, we're not going?" Billy and Allie stared aghast at their father, who was standing with folded arms, looking decisive.

"Just what I said," he answered firmly. "There is no way I'm permitting the two of you to traipse off on some madcap...rescue mission, to face off with some dangerous maniac and his army. I'll go alone."

"But we have to go!" Allie exclaimed, horrified. "We know the way around the island!"

"So do I," Mr. Stone pointed out, slightly nettled. "I live here too, just so you know."

"What she means is that we know our way around the island as it was two centuries ago," Billy said quickly. "We trekked all over it, and I can tell you right now, Dad, it is not the same. We only missed a little bit when we were floating down the river unconscious."

His father's eyes widened, and Allie slapped a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "You probably could have left off that last bit," she muttered.

"Do I even want to know why you were floating unconscious down the river?" Mr. Stone asked, in a tone that clearly said he really didn't want to.

"We jumped over a waterfall," his son answered, before Allie could stop him. She closed her eyes, shaking her head resignedly. They were doomed.

"You jumped. Over a waterfall." The locally famed archaeologist stared at his son, who hastened to explain.

"I jump over waterfalls all the time, just for fun," he said quickly. "Besides, it was the only way to escape from Cobra, who had the medallion and was about to kill-"

"Billy! Stop talking!" Allie glared at her adopted brother before turning to their father. "Dad, we have to go," she pleaded. "Nobody from that time knows you, or you them. You wouldn't be able to tell the villagers from Cobra's men, and you'd have no idea who Mohea was. And," she glanced at Billy, "if things are - were - as bad as we think, you couldn't exactly go asking around for her."

"If the medallion works like you claim it does, I won't need to," Mr. Stone returned readily. "As soon as I get to the past, I'll just wish for this Cobra character to be defeated once and for all."

"In which case there's no danger for us, and no reason for Allie and I to be left behind," Billy said promptly. "Come on Dad, please let us come with you! We couldn't stand to be left here!"

Under a crossfire of puppy eyes and pleading expressions from his son and adopted daughter, Mr. Stone relented. "Oh, alright then," he said grudgingly. "But you are not so much as stepping around a tree out of my sight until we get back here! Got it?"

"Got it." Billy and Allie hugged him delightedly. "Thanks, Dad!" Their father hugged them back and then clapped his hands together.

"Right. Now, the museum curator said he couldn't let us have the medallion 'til next week - which, as you said, won't work, since we can't wait that long - so all that's left to do is break into one of the most secure buildings on the island, disable the security cameras and protections, and steal a famous artifact."

The three Stones stared at each other as the magnitude of what they had to do sank in.

"Great!" Billy said with false cheer. "This should be fun." There was a pause.

"Anyone have any idea how we go about this?"


Not the best chapter, I know. I have a hard time writing fathers, not having one to go by, so I hope I captured Mr. Stone plausibly. And hopefully the quality and frequency of chapters will pick up again once they've gone back in time.