The Paladin Prophecy

#19: WHEN EVERYTHING GOES WRONG, TREAT DISASTER AS A WAY TO WAKE UP.

* * *

Half an hour later, they were huddled in a red leather window booth in a stainless-steel railroad-car diner called Popski’s. It sat on a frontage road, a stone’s throw from the interstate, surrounded by 18-wheelers. A feast crowded the table in front of them: stacks of pancakes as thick as paperback novels and laden with melting butter and hot syrup; a platter of perfectly fried eggs and fat, pungent sausages; waffles so big a toddler could have used them as snowshoes, smothered with plump blueberries; a pile of crisp, sizzling bacon; pitchers of fresh-squeezed orange juice; and pots of strong black coffee.

Will ate with a desperate craving. Every bite tasted better than any version of these foods he’d ever eaten, as if Popski’s was the place where they’d invented breakfast and no one had improved on it.

“This place is unbelievable,” said Will finally.

“The legend of Popski’s is known far and wide,” said McBride, “to every wayfarer who travels these lonesome roads.”

“We say that a meal at Popski’s,” said Eloni, “can revive the dead.”

Eloni gave out an astonishing belch that made them laugh. Will tried to match it, and they laughed even harder. When he pushed his empty plate away, stuffed and satisfied, Will felt indeed as if he’d come halfway back to life.

Eloni paid the bill and McBride led the way back to the car. Properly fortified, Will felt less assaulted by the cold as they stepped outside, just as the sun peeked over the horizon to the east. He stopped to take in the austere beauty of the unfamiliar landscape, a flat, featureless gray-brown plain stretching to the horizon in every direction. It made Ojai seem like the Garden of Eden.

It had been only twenty-four hours since the last sunrise. In his own room, in his parents’ little house, in a distant region of the country, in what now seemed an entirely different life. Will couldn’t keep the loss and sorrow from his eyes.

“Not the easiest day for you in recent memory, I imagine,” said McBride. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“What state are we in?” Will asked, changing the subject.

“Northern Illinois,” said McBride. “We’ll be in Wisconsin shortly. It’s always wise to know what state you’re in, isn’t it?”

Will thought that over. “It’s good to be alive,” he said under his breath.

Within minutes they were back on the highway, heading north by northwest.

“Do you teach at the Center, Mr. McBride?” asked Will.

“Thirty years now. American history, nineteenth-century. My particular subject is Ralph Waldo Emerson. You’re an athlete, aren’t you?”

“Cross-country.”

“Terrific. That’ll give you the stamina for any sport. We encourage students to play as many sports as possible.”

“I don’t really know what to expect. This all happened pretty suddenly.”

“So I’m given to understand. Whatever the circumstances, if you’ll forgive me for dispensing advice, here you are: a new day. And you must make the most of it.”

“That sounds like something my dad would say.”

“I assume we should regard that as a good thing,” said McBride.

Will didn’t try to mask the sadness in his eyes before he looked away. McBride kept his gaze on Will, steady and kind.

“I know how hard leaving home can be,” said McBride. “I was fourteen when I first boarded. Filled me with uncertainty, fear of the unknown. This may sound odd, but if you’re able, Will, don’t push these feelings away. Embrace them. They’re yours, and part of you. They’re here to teach you some of what you’ve come to learn.”

“What would that be?”

“That’s a question only you can answer. And probably not for some time.”

They rode in silence. The landscape changed when they left the interstate for a smaller, two-lane highway. The road began to ramble through gently rolling hills covered with hardwood forests. Will’s mind wandered back to the events on the airplane, landing again on the image he’d seen on the back of Dave’s jacket.

“What does ANZAC mean?” asked Will.

“ANZAC?” asked McBride, puzzled. “What made you think of that?”

“Something I read on the plane,” said Will.

“ANZAC is an acronym for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. An expeditionary task force from both countries. Formed in World War One.”

“Does it still exist?”

“Absolutely.”

Will saw McBride and Eloni exchange a look.

“Not even sure why I thought of it, to be honest,” said Will.

At quarter past nine, they left the highway for local roads. Eloni executed a bewildering number of turns. Will caught a glimpse of the small town he’d seen online—New Brighton Township—and his senses sharpened. From there, the road threaded through hills dotted with distant barns and farmhouses. When they turned onto a long straightaway, Will recognized the wooded lane leading to the school that he’d seen in Robbins’s tour.

“Have a look, Will,” said McBride.

McBride slid open a moonroof overhead. The trees were all stripped of leaves, but even their bare branches formed a thick canopy over the road.

“American elms and red oaks. Legend has it they were planted by the region’s first people, the Lakota Sioux, to mark their sacred ground. Most are between three and four hundred years old, roughly the same age as our country. They were saplings when Washington and his men camped at Valley Forge.”

At the end of the tree-lined drive, they stopped in front of a traffic gate beside a stone guardhouse. A large man in a tan uniform stepped out. Slightly shorter and less stout, the guard might otherwise have been Eloni’s twin brother. The two spoke in low tones, in a language Will didn’t understand—Samoan, he assumed.

“Say hello to my cousin Natano,” said Eloni.

“Hey, how’s it going, Mr. West?” said Natano. “Welcome to the Center.”

Will returned his wave and saw that Natano wore a holstered automatic on his belt. Natano raised the gate, and Eloni drove through.

After cresting a short rise, they eased down toward a broad, bowl-shaped valley. Through the bare trees, Will got his first glimpse of the Center for Integrated Learning. The photographs he’d seen had not exaggerated its beauty; if anything, the campus looked even more perfect to the naked eye. Bright sun, clear blue skies, and glistening ivy gave the buildings of the main quadrangle a glossy glow. In the clipped hedges and pristine landscaping, not one blade of grass looked out of place. Through the commons between buildings, dozens of students moved along the graceful walkways. A flagpole stood in its center, flying an outsized Stars and Stripes that flapped taut in a steady breeze.

Will felt the same eerie sensation he’d experienced while looking at the website: He belonged here.

“Straight to Stone House, please, Eloni,” said McBride.

They followed the road as it curved away from campus, past a broad gravel parking lot filled with cars, a fleet of SUVs, and school buses in silver and navy blue. Around the parking lot stood an assortment of smaller buildings bustling with activity, a vibrant, self-supporting community.

“These house our infrastructure,” said McBride. “Laundry, kitchens, communications, transportation, power plants, and so forth.”

They turned onto an unpaved lane that climbed through thick woods, until they passed through a notch between converging ridges into an open clearing. Directly before them, connected to one of the ridgelines, an immense, broad granite pillar rose sixty feet in the air. It looked as if giants had stacked colossal children’s blocks.

Spanning the top of the column was a jaw-dropping structure. Crafted from soaring lines of wood, stone, and steel, the building looked as if it had grown naturally out of the ageless geological formation below. The house seemed ultramodern and at the same time stark and primitive. Defying an identifiable style, its elements conspired to form a unique, inspiring, and powerful creation.

“Stone House,” said Will.

“No mystery about where it gets its name,” said McBride. “Connected to the earth. Reaching for the sky. Fair description of a headmaster’s job, isn’t it … and this is where he lives.”

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