The Paladin Prophecy

THE TEST

Will trailed Dr. Robbins down the hall to an empty office with a small table and two chairs. A black tablet computer the size of a small square chalkboard rested on the table. Robbins sat on one side and silently offered Will the opposite chair.

Dr. Robbins tapped the tablet and it powered up with a faintly audible whoosh. Using her fingers, she stretched out the dimensions of the borderless black square the way a sculptor might manipulate wet clay. Except the tablet was made of metal. When she was done, the tablet had grown in size until it nearly covered the entire table.

“What the heck is this thing?” asked Will.

“Ah. That would be telling,” she said playfully. “Put your hands here, please.”

The glowing outlines of a pair of hands appeared on the screen. The blackness beneath the lines glistened, as if there were unseen depths below. Will felt like he was staring into the still water of a moonlit lake.

Will set his hands down just inside the lines. The instant he made contact, the screen thrummed with energy. The lines glowed brighter, then faded, leaving his hands floating on top of a bottomless liquid void.

“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Dr. Robbins said. “Feel free to respond any way you like. There are no wrong answers.”

“What if you ask the wrong questions?”

“What’s your name?”

“Will Melendez West.”

“Melendez. That’s your mother’s maiden name?”

“Yes.”

A pleasant wave of heat rose from the screen, washing over his hands like soft seawater before subsiding.

“And Will’s not short for William?”

“It’s not short for anything. They wanted a cooperative kid, so they named me the opposite of won’t.”

She didn’t smile. “How old are you, Will?”

“Fifteen.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“August fifteenth. Every year, like clockwork.”

A swirling riot of colors erupted from the depths below, then disappeared. Will had the disturbing thought that if he pushed his hands through the surface, he would fall right into the screen.

“Is this some kind of lie detector?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. “Would it make you more comfortable if it were?”

“Is that a question from the test, or are you really asking?”

“Does it make a difference to you?”

“Are you going to answer all of my questions with questions?”

“Why, yes, I am, Will,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “I’m trying to distract you.”

Will’s defenses ratcheted up a notch. “Keep up the good work.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Cerulean blue. I had a little zinc tube of that paint once in art class. Real dark blue, like the sky on a cold, clear day—”

“It’s not an essay question. Where were you born?”

“Albuquerque,” he said. “We only lived there a few months. I can spell that for you, if you like.”

Subtle tones sounded from deep beneath his hands, like muted woodwinds. Corresponding shapes—obscure mathematical symbols, or some archaic language he couldn’t decipher—swam around below him in complex patterns.

“It’s not a spelling bee, either. What’s your father’s name?”

“Jordan West.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He’s a freelance rodeo clown.”

“Hmm,” she said, chewing on her lip. “That might have been a lie.”

“Wow. You are good.”

“Oh, it’s not me,” she said, then leaned forward, pointed to the screen, and whispered, “You can’t fool the machine.”

“Okay, busted. He’s an academic researcher.”

Robbins smiled. “That sounds slightly more plausible. In what field?”

“Neurobiology, at UC Santa Barbara.”

“What is your mom’s full name?”

“Belinda Melendez West.”

“What does she do?”

“She works as a paralegal.”

“Where is her family from?” asked Robbins.

Will raised an eyebrow. “The Melendezes? Barcelona. Her parents came here in the 1960s.”

“Are your grandparents still living?”

“No.”

“Did you know any of them?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Would you classify yourself as Caucasian or Hispanic?”

“Neither. I’m American.”

Dr. Robbins seemed to like that answer. “Where else has your family lived besides Albuquerque?”

“Tucson, Las Cruces, Phoenix, Flagstaff, La Jolla, last year Temecula, and then here in Ojai—”

“Why do your parents move around so much?”

Good question, Will thought. Out loud, he said, “That’s the price Dad pays for working in the exciting and highly competitive field of neurobiology.”

“This part’s going to hurt a little,” she said.

He felt something sharp and prickly—like a steel brush—scrape his palms as the surface of the tablet crackled with a hot flash of light that filled the room, then just as quickly went dark.

Will yanked his hands away in alarm. The surface of the screen glowed like a pool lit underwater. Dust and debris floating in the air above rushed down into the black square as if caught in the pull of a magnetic field. Then the light went out, the surface stabilized, and the black tablet shrank back to its original chalkboard size.

Okay, Will thought. That is truly deeply weird.

Will looked at his hands. Both palms were red, and they pulsed as if he’d set them on a hot stove. Robbins took his hands in hers and examined them.

“I warned you it was going to hurt,” she said softly.

“What’s all this really about?”

“Sorry for the mumbo jumbo, Will. You’ll understand eventually. Or you won’t.” She gave him back his hands. His palms already looked less inflamed.

“Thanks for clearing that up. How’d I do on your test?”

“I don’t know,” she said, smiling like she had a secret. “Why don’t you ask the Mystic Eight Ball?” Robbins held up the black tablet in front of him. A photo-real 3-D image of an eight ball appeared on-screen. “Go ahead.”

Will lowered his voice in a parody of concentration. “Did I pass the test?”

Robbins gave the tablet a shake. The “Eight Ball” revolved and revealed a small window on its opposite side. A miniature white tile floated into view: Looking good!

“There you go. So sayeth the oracle,” she said, sliding the tablet back into her bag. “I have one last question of my own, Will. Nothing to do with the test.”

“Shoot.”

“Aren’t you absolutely bored to the edge of living death with high school?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled. “Let’s go talk to Mom.”

“I represent the most academically accomplished college preparatory academy in the country,” said Robbins as she typed commands into her laptop. “That you’ve never heard of.”

“Why haven’t we heard of you?” asked Belinda West.

“I’ll address that in a moment, Mrs. West. I think you’ll appreciate the answer.”

Dr. Robbins opened her laptop until it lay flat on Barton’s desk. A multidimensional image of thick cloud cover projected into the air about three feet above the screen, like an impossibly detailed children’s pop-up book. Barton and Rasche stood back in amazement.

As they all watched, the point of view circled above the clouds and then descended into them. As the clouds thinned, a stately array of buildings on vast green lawns surrounded by thick woods appeared. They floated down toward this astonishingly conjured world, swooped suddenly lower, and leveled off. They flew toward the campus above a long, straight entrance road lined with towering trees. As they passed over a gate and guardhouse, Will caught the glow of illuminated letters engraved on an impressive stone facade:

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