noticed the statue before, so I got up out of the chair and walked over for a better look. It was just a small statue, not much bigger than my hand. I picked it up and took a closer look at it. It was Michael, all right, with his angel sword raised up. And at the base of it, there were some words engraved:
RECTE AGE NIL TIME
The words gave me a strange feeling. I thought they were probably Latin, but I didn’t know how to read Latin and had no idea what they meant. All the same, I got this weird notion in my head that the words were directed especially at me. Maybe I just needed advice so badly I was ready to find it anywhere, but still, I had this powerful feeling that the angel statue was answering that chant of mine: What do I do, what do I do? It came to me that if I could find out the meaning of those words, I would know.
I set the statuette down on the shelf and left the room. Headed back down the hall to my room.
My room is not at all like my dad’s. It’s a lot messier, for one thing. And there aren’t as many books. Mostly the walls are decorated with posters, which are mostly from my favorite video games. Like one has “The Evolution of Mario,” showing how Mario went from being all pixilated in the old days to being three-dimensional now. Then there’s Batman from the Arkham Asylum game and the Prince of Persia and so on. Then there’s my bed and stuff. And then there’s my computer, which is a MacBook, on a big table that is cluttered with all my books and papers from school.
So I sat down at the computer. I called up Google and typed in the words I’d seen on the angel statue: Recte Age Nil Time .
The translation appeared on the monitor at once. I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath.
Because now I didn’t think those words were the answer to my prayer. I knew they were. I knew they were the advice I’d been looking for.
I guess in a funny way it was those words that started all the trouble. It was those words that changed everything.
The translation on the screen was:
DO RIGHT. FEAR NOTHING.
7
Someone in the Woods
Do right. Fear nothing .
Good advice. And I won’t pretend I didn’t know what the right thing to do was. Sure I did. It was the “fear nothing” part I was having a hard time with. How are you supposed to fear nothing? I mean, if you’re afraid, how are you supposed to turn it off?
After school that day, I rode my bike up the long road toward the barn. My stomach felt hollow and cold like an empty canyon with a wind blowing through it. That was the fear, I guess. I was afraid of what would happen if I told Jeff I wasn’t coming anymore—and I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.
It was still afternoon. There was plenty of light, but the light was starting to get that kind of rich color it gets as the day shades toward evening. The road was rugged and broken. My tires bumped over the ruts and pebbles, and I had to work hard to keep the handlebars steady. I wove between deep holes in the macadam to keep the wheels on the smoother surfaces. It took a lot of concentration. I couldn’t really pay much attention to the scenery around me.
The scenery was just trees mostly anyway, a sparse forest on either side of the pavement. When I did get the chance to glance up, I saw the light from the sinking sun pouring through the winter branches in beams. The woods were still and silent. The only sound anywhere was the rattle and bump of my bike going up the hill.
Then suddenly, there was a snap —a loud, startling crack.
Without thinking, I looked up toward the sound. The second I did, my front tire hit a rut. The handlebars twisted in my hands. I had to brake hard to keep from losing control. The bike stopped, my feet going down to the pavement to hold it steady.
I sat there, staring into the woods, staring at the place where the sound—that loud crack—had come from.
I had seen something—something moving there. Just before I stopped the bike,
RECTE AGE NIL TIME
The words gave me a strange feeling. I thought they were probably Latin, but I didn’t know how to read Latin and had no idea what they meant. All the same, I got this weird notion in my head that the words were directed especially at me. Maybe I just needed advice so badly I was ready to find it anywhere, but still, I had this powerful feeling that the angel statue was answering that chant of mine: What do I do, what do I do? It came to me that if I could find out the meaning of those words, I would know.
I set the statuette down on the shelf and left the room. Headed back down the hall to my room.
My room is not at all like my dad’s. It’s a lot messier, for one thing. And there aren’t as many books. Mostly the walls are decorated with posters, which are mostly from my favorite video games. Like one has “The Evolution of Mario,” showing how Mario went from being all pixilated in the old days to being three-dimensional now. Then there’s Batman from the Arkham Asylum game and the Prince of Persia and so on. Then there’s my bed and stuff. And then there’s my computer, which is a MacBook, on a big table that is cluttered with all my books and papers from school.
So I sat down at the computer. I called up Google and typed in the words I’d seen on the angel statue: Recte Age Nil Time .
The translation appeared on the monitor at once. I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath.
Because now I didn’t think those words were the answer to my prayer. I knew they were. I knew they were the advice I’d been looking for.
I guess in a funny way it was those words that started all the trouble. It was those words that changed everything.
The translation on the screen was:
DO RIGHT. FEAR NOTHING.
7
Someone in the Woods
Do right. Fear nothing .
Good advice. And I won’t pretend I didn’t know what the right thing to do was. Sure I did. It was the “fear nothing” part I was having a hard time with. How are you supposed to fear nothing? I mean, if you’re afraid, how are you supposed to turn it off?
After school that day, I rode my bike up the long road toward the barn. My stomach felt hollow and cold like an empty canyon with a wind blowing through it. That was the fear, I guess. I was afraid of what would happen if I told Jeff I wasn’t coming anymore—and I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.
It was still afternoon. There was plenty of light, but the light was starting to get that kind of rich color it gets as the day shades toward evening. The road was rugged and broken. My tires bumped over the ruts and pebbles, and I had to work hard to keep the handlebars steady. I wove between deep holes in the macadam to keep the wheels on the smoother surfaces. It took a lot of concentration. I couldn’t really pay much attention to the scenery around me.
The scenery was just trees mostly anyway, a sparse forest on either side of the pavement. When I did get the chance to glance up, I saw the light from the sinking sun pouring through the winter branches in beams. The woods were still and silent. The only sound anywhere was the rattle and bump of my bike going up the hill.
Then suddenly, there was a snap —a loud, startling crack.
Without thinking, I looked up toward the sound. The second I did, my front tire hit a rut. The handlebars twisted in my hands. I had to brake hard to keep from losing control. The bike stopped, my feet going down to the pavement to hold it steady.
I sat there, staring into the woods, staring at the place where the sound—that loud crack—had come from.
I had seen something—something moving there. Just before I stopped the bike,
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