The Prophecy

Bakkian Chronicles, Book I

THE PROPHECY

Jeffrey M. Poole

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Author’s Foreword

Dedication

Chapter 1 – Beneficiary

Chapter 2 – Portal

Chapter 3 – Encounter

Chapter 4 – Prisoners

Chapter 5 – Magic

Chapter 6 – Journal

Chapter 7 – R’Tal

Chapter 8 – Prophecy

Chapter 9 – Protectors

Chapter 10 – Allies

Chapter 11 – Mountains

Chapter 12 – Entrance

Chapter 13 – Maelnar

Chapter 14 – Exterminators

Chapter 15 – Key

Chapter 16 – Surprise

About the Author

More Books by this Author

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my friends and family for becoming my first set of beta readers! I appreciate you guys taking the time to go through the book and point out typos, grammar problems, etc. And, for the most recent edits, published under Secret Staircase Books—thank you to Susan Gross and Sandra Anderson for your help.

I also wanted to drop a quick note of thanks to two people I found on Amazon’s forums who gave my book a chance (and thankfully enjoyed it!): Scott (indiebookblogger.blogspot.com) and R.M. Putnam (www.DestinysWarriors.com), author of the Destiny’s Warriors series. Thanks again you two!

Oh, Jamie, I’m sorry to say (not really!) that you’ll still never beat me in SSX Tricky. It’s so sad being by yourself at the top … :)

Author’s Foreword

Just a few months ago, I finished my 30th novel. I’d love to be able to say I knew what I was doing from day one, but let’s be honest with one another. I didn’t. The Prophecy (Bakkian Chronicles #1) was the first book I ever wrote, and to be clear, it took me over six years to write. Why? Well, my writing career started with a not-so-gentle push from my wife. The job I held, when I started writing, caused me to travel extensively. Whenever I was away from home, and I was done for the day, I’d pull out my laptop and start working on this book. At the time, it was better than trying to find something to watch on a hotel’s television set.

Having never dreamed my books would have taken off as much as they have, I was persuaded by the fans to keep my original trilogy going. Bakkian Chronicles was just supposed to be the three, but bowing to the readers’ requests, I created Tales of Lentari, and kept the kingdom alive. Saying that, I’ve been asked—repetitively—whether or not I was going to go back through The Prophecy and clean it up. Well, I can finally say that I did. With help. Lots of help.

I hope you enjoy it. Happy reading!

J.

June, 2022

For Giliane —

My one true love, my soul mate, my everything.

Thank you for believing in me!

Chapter 1 – Beneficiary

Mondays typically didn’t bother him too much, but this particular one wasn’t off to a good start. He had just let out a monster yawn, the kind where, once finished, jaw muscles are left hurting and the inside of your mouth has long dried out. He hadn’t even made it in to work yet, and here he was, already wishing he was back home. The simple fact of the matter, he thought glumly, was that he was bored with his job. Sure, it paid the bills, and with the economy the way it was, he was thankful to have a job. Nevertheless, the fact remained that he needed something more challenging to do than solving the same type of problems day in and day out.

Thanks to his job in tech support, his social life had become practically non-existent. Being able to treat his wife to a night out was a rarity anymore. He sighed. He couldn’t even remember the last time they had not been interrupted over a weekend. All he had to do was think about going out for the night and within the hour, plans would have to be cancelled. It was as certain as washing your car and then watching the clouds roll in.

Take last Friday, for example. He had just finished placing reservations at the new steakhouse in town when a major client’s system went down. It had taken him three hours of remote dial-in service to resuscitate the stubborn machinery. Was he thanked for putting in the long hours, especially on a Friday? Of course not. Would he see any part of the exorbitant fee that his boss would charge the client for the after-hours support? Nope. Part of the job description, his sadistic supervisor had informed him.

His reverie was shattered by the Bane of his Existence, his business cell. The blasted thing had begun ringing well before his 8 a.m. start time and he hadn’t even made it to the office yet. A quick glance at the caller ID had him cringing. Unfortunately, it was a client’s number he knew all too well. Well, they were just going to have to wait. Pushing the ignore button on the cell, his attention returned to the road. Moments later, his cell chimed: new voicemail. His irritated eyes flicked momentarily over to the time indicator on the SUV’s dashboard. Ten minutes to eight. If there was one thing he was adamant about, it was not letting any of the numerous clients who had been given his cell phone number know he was available before his allotted start time. He might not have a say as to who was given his cell number, but he could certainly control when he answered it.

Steve Miller was the senior computer tech for a medium-sized company that sold and maintained telephony software and hardware. Out of five full-time techs that his company employed, not one person knew the system better than he. It was a bitter point of contention that consistently fell upon deaf ears.

His cell phone chimed again a few moments later. It didn’t like being ignored. Steve sighed irritably. It would be dealt with as soon as he made it in to the office. What had happened to the weekend, anyway? How was it possible that two days could pass by in the blink of an eye? Wasn’t it just Friday?

Well, he couldn’t say he didn’t do anything fun this weekend, he thought. Since he and his wife truly (gasp!) enjoyed playing video games together, they had decided to buy Nintendo’s interactive video console, the Wii. Nothing will make you lose your dignity faster than yelling at the television, while waving around a set of game controllers that strongly resemble a set of martial arts nunchucks, and, to top it all off, getting beaten horribly by your wife. It was debilitating.

At least the summer was finally over, Steve mused. The start of fall had always been his favorite time of the year. He might be able to swing some time off in September, for their anniversary. His bosses owed him at least that. Being huge Disney fans, he and his wife liked nothing more than walking around Disneyland, hand in hand, admiring the …

A horn honked loudly nearby, snapping him out of his second daydream of the day. Groggily, rubbing both eyes, Steve glanced in his mirror to see who had honked their horn, and why. Not one car had moved an inch since he’d become stuck in this lousy traffic jam. Sighing again, he started tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Jeez, how much longer were they gonna be stuck here? This had better be one hell of an accident.

Ordinarily, the traffic in Twin Falls, Idaho, was minimal at best. Sure, it was a larger town, at least when it came to the Spud State, but still, traffic here was typically not something you complained about. Today, however, there were at least twenty cars ahead of him, not to mention that many piled up behind. Even the oncoming lanes of traffic were snarled, which usually meant that there was some serious rubber-necking happening up ahead. This must be one nasty accident. He hoped no one was seriously hurt. Cars mangled, sure, that’s fine, but no one hurt.

Steve glanced over at the passenger seat and noticed a corner of an envelope sticking out between the seat and the car door. He reached over and pulled it out.

Oh, yeah, forgot about this, he mumbled. The certified letter. It had arrived the previous day, courtesy of some young kid in a beat-up VW bug. You Steve Miller? the courier had asked, with a not-so-bright look on his face. The unprofessional manner in which this certified piece of mail had been delivered had denigrated its importance to that of an unwanted piece of trash. As a result, it had been tossed into his SUV to be dealt with later. Well, no time like the present. Might as well see what it said.

Steve tore open the cardboard mailer. A white envelope fell onto his lap, along with a folded piece of newspaper. Okay, so what’s this? He glanced up to check on the status of the non-moving traffic and unfolded the newspaper. It was a clipping from the Coeur d’Alene Press, the local newspaper that covered the northern Idaho panhandle region. He was holding the obituaries page, and there were two. However, only one held his attention:

Simon & Grace Miller, 81 and 80, long-time residents of Coeur d’Alene, passed away suddenly after an automobile accident. They leave behind one son, Stan (& Bonnie) Miller of Phoenix, AZ, and one grandson, Steven (& Sarah) Miller, of Twin Falls, ID. Funeral arrangements will be handled by C. Baron Funeral Home.

Steve blinked a few times. He recognized the names of his paternal grandparents, of course. They’re dead? When did that happen? Steve turned the paper over, looking for the date. Hmmm, nearly three weeks ago. Who would send him a copy of their obituary? He reached for the white envelope, opened it, and pulled out a single folded piece of paper.

Dear Mr. Miller,

My name is Arthur C. Carroll. I am the attorney for your grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Simon Miller. I regret to inform you that your grandparents have passed away. I will be handling their estate.

The reason for my letter is to inform you that you are named as the beneficiary in their will. Please call my office so we can arrange a visit to review their will together. Again, my most heartfelt sympathies for your loss.

Sincerely,

Arthur C. Carroll

The attorney had even personally signed the letter. Well, it looked like an authentic signature. Steve squinted at the paper. Could be fake. Those computer printers were getting really good at making a phony signature look real.

Steve reread the letter. His grandparents were dead? Should he be upset? He didn’t feel it. Hell, he hadn’t even known his father’s parents. Sure, he knew them by name only, and knew what they looked like from his mother’s photo albums, but he himself had never talked to them.

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel again. I’m named in their will? Did dad also get a letter like this? He pulled his cell out of his pocket and called his parents. His mother picked up on the second ring.

Hello?

Hi, Mom. How’s it goin’?

Steven! What a pleasant surprise! Aren’t you supposed to be at work?

Well, yeah, he admitted, but I’m presently stuck in traffic. Must be an accident or something up ahead.

Traffic? In Twin Falls? Please. Unless it’s four lanes deep, and several miles long, don’t complain to me about traffic.

His parents had retired to Phoenix to soak up the desert sun. A simple trip to the grocery store usually resulted in a thirty minute drive. Being the fifth largest city in the United States, Phoenix’s traffic naturally, well, stunk.

Steve laughed. Yeah, yeah, you have a point. Hey, listen, I have a question for you. Have you or dad received a certified letter in the last couple of days? From an attorney named Arthur Carroll?

His mother thought a moment. No, nothing like that here. An attorney sent you a certified letter? Are you all right? Is someone trying to sue you?

No, no, nothing like that. He sent a letter stating dad’s parents had died in a car accident, and that I’m named as beneficiary in their will. I just figured dad was named as well. I mean, I know they had their differences, but I just figured the attorney would have contacted the two of you first.

Bonnie Miller sighed and sat down. Her husband had most definitely not gotten along with his parents. How could a happily married couple neglect their only son?

No, we haven’t received anything. When did this happen?

Just about three weeks ago.

I’m really sorry to hear that. I didn’t know them that well. I only met them once. I don’t know how your father is going to take this. He’s playing golf at the moment. I’ll have to tell him when he gets back. He didn’t take his cell.

But why would they name me beneficiary and not dad? Were things that bad?

Yes, honey, they were. They hadn’t spoken to each other in years.

I sure as hell don’t remember talking to them, either. Why name me?

I don’t know why they did. They must have had some reason to. What are you going to do?

Well, I guess I can call this lawyer to see what he needs me to do. Do I have to go to his office? Can’t he just tell me over the phone what they left me?

You’ll have to talk to him personally. When going through a will, I’ve never heard of a reputable lawyer disclosing the contents over the phone. Just let me know what happens, alright?

Is Dad going to be okay?

Leave your father to me.

Okay Mom, thanks. Bye.

Goodbye, Steven.

Steve sighed inwardly. Figuring his boss wouldn’t give him any problems about dealing with a death in the family, he picked up his phone again and called the attorney's office and made an appointment for the following day. That done, he decided to call his wife whom he had just dropped off fifteen minutes ago at the hospital. Sarah Miller was the supervisor for a company that provided medical billing on behalf of the local hospital. Her job was to oversee a team of people who relentlessly nagged the insurance companies on the hospital’s behalf until they paid the claims that she and her team had submitted.

Hi, Honey! What's up?

Hey. I’m stuck in traffic at the moment. Haven’t even made it to the office yet. Hey, listen, remember that certified letter that I got yesterday? I had forgotten about it until just now. I decided to open it. It looks like my grandparents passed away. They… and I was quickly cut off.

Omigod! What happened? When did this happen? Ummm… Sarah paused a moment. She only knew of one set of his grandparents, and his grandfather had passed away a number of years ago, leaving only his grandmother. He had clearly said grandparents. Plural. Who?

Steve smiled into the phone.

They were Dad's parents. You've never met them. I can’t remember ever meeting them before. Mom claims that I did, but being only two years old doesn’t count. I got the impression they were the family outcasts.

Oh, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Now Sarah sounded upset.

I know this is cold-hearted, but I didn’t know them. They never made an effort to get to know us, so I really didn’t worry about it. Apparently, I’m named in their will. So thanks to that, I have to go see their lawyer tomorrow morning, see what's up. I have plenty of PTO, so I’ll take the day off and pretty much spend it on the road. Just what I always wanted to do on a day off. He's probably gonna try and make me pay some type of legal fee, isn’t he?

You’re not responsible for any debts or fees, Sarah pointed out. If anything, you’ll have to liquidate the assets to pay for anything that’s owed. Be cordial to him tomorrow. I don't want you scowling at him, or anything like that. Promise. It wasn't a request.

Okay, okay, I promise. I'll wait to see what he has to say before I start scowling.

Sarah laughed and hung up.

As it turned out, the lawyer was surprisingly polite. Of course, he was in Boise, a two hour drive from Steve’s home in Twin Falls. Fortunately, the drive gave him plenty of time to come up with excuses to get out of doing too much work or paying any money.

Arthur C. Carroll had seen better days. He appeared to be in his sixties, was overweight, balding, and had stained teeth. Well, that’s what you get when you drink too much coffee, Steve thought.

Mr. Miller, thank you for coming, the attorney shook hands with him. Please sit down. I know you had a long drive, so I'll make this as short as possible.

Steve smirked. I'll believe that when I see it.

I can tell from your expression that you’re expecting the worst. So, I’m pleased to disappoint you. You’re the sole beneficiary of the Miller Estate in Coeur d’Alene. That includes their home and land, about a hundred and fifty acres.

Steve's eyebrows shot up and he was certain his jaw clanged noisily on the floor.

A hundred and fifty acres? In Coeur d’Alene? Wow.

That is correct, Mr. Miller. Their residence and the land it’s sitting on now belong to you. What you do with it is entirely up to you. Sell it, live on it, demolish it, it doesn’t matter to me. Please sign here. The transfer of title will take about thirty days. After that, the estate is officially yours.

Free and clear?

Free and clear, the lawyer confirmed.

Steve shook his head in amazement and signed the papers. Once the documents were signed and given back to the attorney, he was handed a set of keys. And a map.

Steve was puzzled.

What’s the map for? I know where Coeur d’Alene is.

Their property is northeast of the city, bordering BLM land. I’ve only been to the estate once. Trust me, you’ll find the map useful. Good luck, Mr. Miller.

And with that, he again shook hands with the attorney and left the office.

Steve's mind was spinning. He owned a mansion now? And a hundred fifty acres of land? He had to call Sarah, as this was Breaking News. They were going to have to celebrate! But how?

Of course, his wife knew something was up the moment his little ‘let’s go out for dinner’ suggestion escaped his lips.

After they had placed their orders, Steve proceeded to fill her in on what had transpired at the lawyer’s office.

A mansion? You never said they were rich. And a hundred fifty acres? That’s gotta be worth something up there. Coeur d’Alene is a resort town, you know. Sarah clapped her hands. I wonder if it’s a pretty mansion with a garden? Wouldn’t that be great? Sarah looked at Steve and sobered instantly. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so excited about your grandparents’ death.

Hey, don’t worry about it. Like I told you, I didn’t know them. I say we contact a Realtor and put the property up for sale. Let’s see what kind of offers we can get on it. I want to be done with it. The way I see it, we should be able to make some good money off this whole deal. Real estate is worth a lot up there.

Sarah clapped her hands again, back to being instantly excited.

We don’t have anything planned this weekend. You should be able to take Friday off. Just tell ’em that since there’s been a death in the family, you have to go to the funeral. I’ll take it off, too. We can go up there to see what the place looks like.

Steve shook his head.

You want to drive up there? Going through someone’s house is not my idea of fun. The place probably has orange shag carpeting. Lime green appliances. Formica countertops. He chuckled at the mental picture this formed and returned his attention back to Sarah. Did you know that after Dad moved out of his parents’ house, I never once heard of him returning to visit? Hmmm… Steve's voice trailed off.

Sarah waited, figuring there was probably more to this story.

They never attended family reunions, Steve continued on, moments later. "No Christmases that I can remember. No phone calls to say hello, how are you? And for my birthday, they always sent three lousy bucks in my birthday card when I was a boy. And now I learn they have, er, had a mansion. Steve paused, and looked at his wife. I never knew these people. I always thought they were cheap and wanted nothing to do with me. Then I find out they’ve given me essentially everything they own. I don’t understand why. What’s the logic behind that? Sure, I’m flattered that they chose to give everything to me, but why should I bother with them?"

Sarah had remained quiet the whole time Steve had been rambling, nibbling on a bread-stick. Now that he appeared to be done, she took a breath. I think that since they’ve named you in their will, they thought highly of you. You should at least go to their house and see for yourself what you were given. I think you owe them that.

Steve wasn’t ready to commit to a day long drive. Not yet, anyway.

I looked it up. The directions I found online says that Coeur d’Alene is a twelve hour drive from here. Twelve hours! Wouldn't it be a better idea just to call a local Realtor and put the house and property up for sale? We could get some bids for cleaning the place up, tossing trash, etc. I’d be willing to pay for that, provided I didn’t have to be involved. I wonder if Lynn has any contacts up there.

Lynn was one of Sarah’s close friends that they periodically hung out with. She just happened to own her own real estate brokerage.

Sarah fixed him with a glare. You can call her if you like. However, we’re going. This is important and you’ll feel terrible if you don’t go.

Steve mentally scratched the remaining items off of his list of issues and resigned himself to the trip. A day-long drive up the northern Idaho panhandle. Oh, what fun.

* * *

Steve sighed. How much longer was this drive going to last? When he had looked at the map to plot their course, he still couldn't see how it could last twelve hours. The starting point and ending point were in the same state for crying out loud! They had passed Boise several hours earlier. Now they were on a straight stretch of SR-55, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to see. The steady humming of the SUV’s tires on the asphalt was beginning to make him drowsy.

Sarah had gone to the library to check out several audio books. Steve had to admit, it was a good way to pass the time, provided that they were murder mysteries, and not romance novels. Although he’d deny it under the most heinous of tortures, some of them weren’t too bad.

This novel, however, was boring beyond belief. The story was very slow to start. He had believed (prayed!) that the pace would pick up, but after three CDs, it was apparent that it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. And what was with the narrator? Flat, emotionless, unenthusiastic voice that could put even the most caffeinated person to sleep in just a few minutes. What moron listened to her and thought, ‘Gentlemen, here’s an idea, let’s have her make an audio book?’ How many accidents had this lady been responsible for anyway? Steve groaned. Seven more CDs to go.

He glanced over at Sarah. She was staring idly out at the passing scenery. She clearly wasn’t paying attention to the book anymore, either. Time for Plan B. He reached behind his seat to pull out a bag of beef jerky, procured at the last gas stop they made. Knowing his wife could never resist her favorite road trip snack, he tore off the top and opened the bag. A split second later, Sarah's head snapped around.

You sneak! When did you get that? His wife was trying to act insulted that he hadn't offered it to her the instant he had bought it, but he always liked to surprise her. If the playful tirade had lasted any longer, then she would have ended up spraying jerky everywhere. Happily chewing away, the boring audio book was promptly ignored, which might be due to the fact that Steve had surreptitiously turned the volume down.

What do you think we'll find up there? Run-down house, trash everywhere, junk cars in the yard? Steve was drawing himself a pretty good mental picture of this when Sarah finally swallowed.

Hon, I don't think they were rednecks. She stifled a giggle. Maybe an outdated house in need of a new paint job, and a couple of pink flamingos in the front yard. She grabbed another piece of jerky. I'm curious about the land, though. According to your map, their tract of land extends well into the forest. The land is probably worth more than the house itself. She bit off another piece of jerky.

I wonder what type of people they were, Steve mused, clearly not on the same page as she. I don’t understand why they wouldn’t want to have contact with their family.

Maybe they wanted to, but didn’t know how. Sarah was still chewing on her jerky. Maybe your dad and his parents had an argument, and your dad decided to sever the relationship. That’s what I think happened.

Dad never talked about his parents, Steve said. Every time I tried to bring the subject up, and wondered why we never went to visit, or why they never visited us, he always said he had no desire to see them. Never said what he had against them. I wish I knew. Sad way to live, if you ask me.

Sarah nodded. She bit off another piece of jerky. Let’s listen to some music, ’k?

Two bags of jerky, four music CDs, and a hasty overnight stay at a run-down motel later, they pulled in to a Coeur d’Alene gas station just off of I-90 to verify the directions they were given. Steve got out of their SUV and headed inside. Sarah decided the station looked nice enough to get out and use the restroom. She passed her husband and headed to the back of the store. The attendant was studying the map.

Holt Lane. Hmmm. Your map says it’s off of French Gulch St. Haven’t heard of that one, but if your map is correct, then go out to that stop sign and hang a right. Keep going until you hit Harrison. Turn right. Harrison will turn into French Gulch. It should be on your left.

Steve thanked the attendant and got back in their car. Sarah returned several minutes later with a fresh, cold bottle of water and they were on their way.

They found Holt Lane without any problems. The street ended in a cul-de-sac, backing up against the forest in all directions but the east. There were three houses that met their gaze. All of them, Steve thought joyfully, were large manors with well-kept grounds. A fourth driveway could be seen, only it had locked gates securing the entrance, with the private road disappearing off into the woods. Steve looked at the first house on the left.

439 Holt Lane. Look at the size of that sucker! It’s gorgeous!! That’s gotta be worth at least a half mil, easy!

Sarah looked at the large, Tudor-style manor. That’s a beautiful house. They all are. Great neighborhood. Lots of land around. Forest for a backyard.

Steve had unfastened his seat belt and was reaching for the ignition when Sarah grabbed his hand.

Umm, wrong house. We’re looking for 419 Holt Lane.

Steve looked over at the next house on the right. Hey, fine by me! That one is even bigger.

Sarah, however, was looking at the gated driveway. She pointed to it. I think that’s ours.

Huh? How can you tell? I don’t see an address.

Sarah unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the SUV. Walking over to the gates, she moved some of the brush aside, revealing a tarnished brass plaque set into the brick wall.

See? 419. This is it.

The gates were old, thick, and very formidable. They were set into solid brick foundations and, Steve was willing to bet, would be able to withstand any attempts of forced entry. A large, weathered lock kept the gates chained securely together.

Steve got out of the car and started trying the various keys he’d been given. After a couple of attempts, he found the correct one and pushed the gates open. Belying their rusty appearance, the gates effortlessly opened, smacking into the brick wall with a resounding clang. Ahead of them, the driveway stretched on for about a hundred yards before curving to the right and disappearing into the forest. It looked as though someone had cut a swath right through the middle of the trees, clearing just enough room for a car to squeeze by. Steve glanced at the other driveways. The houses at the end of each were situated about fifty feet away. He looked back at the gate and chuckled.

What's so funny? asked Sarah, once he was back in the car.

I keep expecting to see a green van with a great big dog in the back seat.

Sarah stared blankly at him.

You know, like Scooby Doo. Are we going to find some type of mystery that needs to be solved? This is how they always seem to… He trailed off after noticing his wife’s look, which clearly said, ‘You’re a dork.’ in any language. Right. On we go.

Steve nudged the car through the gates and drove slowly down the lane. After they rounded the bend, it took a full ten minutes of driving (at ten mph - for some reason Steve couldn't bring himself to drive any faster) before they passed what could only be referred to as an authentic fruit orchard. They slowly drove by apple trees, pear trees, apricot trees, and several Sarah couldn’t identify. At last, the trees cleared and their newly acquired house came into view. And what a house it was!

The manor was roughly 12,500 square feet, three stories high, and built in the 1880s (by none other than Steve's great-great-grandfather, Luther, which he would not discover until much later). The house sat on a huge tract of land, with forest encroaching from the north and west. Steve couldn’t pinpoint what style the house was built to conform to, but it did look part Victorian, part Mediterranean, and it even had a medieval feel about the place. That turret on the western side of the house, for example. He blinked. No, that wasn't a turret. More like a round anteroom off of another room. The second and third stories also incorporated the same design as the first floor, so it certainly could be mistaken for a turret.

Flagstone decorated the base of the house, extending halfway up the second floor. Situated on the northern side of the house was a detached garage with enough room for four full-sized RVs with room to spare. The southern side of the house contained the beginnings of an immense Victorian garden that wrapped around the western side of the mansion, stretching all the way up to the edge of the forest. A small, gurgling creek wound through the gardens before returning to the forest at the northwestern perimeter of the property. Steve had stepped on the brakes the moment their new house had come into view as they were still a good hundred yards away.

You know, I would prefer it if you could pull all the way up to the house. I really don’t want to walk the rest of the way in. Sarah was smiling, shaking her head. She was anxious to check out their new found fortune.

Sorry. Just taking it all in. He drove to the front of the house and parked their car. Look at that garage! Room for all of your toys. That’d be an apt description for a real estate listing, he mused. Sarah was out of the car first.

"This thing really is a mansion! Omigod! It's enormous!! Sarah was slowly turning in place, trying to take in as much as possible. It was then that she looked to the south of the gigantic manor and saw the gardens. Her gardens. Look at that! Do you see the gardens? Let’s go check it out! Please?"

Knowing you and gardens, that could take a while. Steve immediately sidestepped to his left about three feet in order to avoid the imminent hit. Tell you what, as soon as we’re done checking out the inside, we’ll look around the outside. Okay?

As long as you promise to not rush me.

Steve smiled. Deal.

They approached the front entry. Steve dug out the keys again and started going through them.

Got it. Shall we?

Sarah smiled as her husband held the door open. However, Steve decided to be the first one in. Sarah nodded, saying nothing. What if something jumped out at her? Besides, it was best to let him walk through any cobwebs first.

A moment later, Steve and Sarah Miller stood in a foyer the size of their first apartment. The first thing he noted was how everything inside looked as though it belonged in a museum. There were several cast iron coat racks to the left of the main doors; a huge mirror with a carved, mahogany frame was directly on the right. Two sets of staircases, one on the left and the other on the right spiraled up and joined together on the second floor, and then continued as one up to the third floor. A fireplace was just visible through a set of double doors on the left side of the room. It was so big that the two of them could have stood in it without hitting their heads. The right side of the room also contained a set of double doors, but those were closed.

They hadn’t moved more than a few feet from the front door.

How the hell did they keep a house this big clean? Steve wondered, looking around.

Sarah didn’t have to think of the answer. Easy. If you can afford a house this size, you hire maids.

You have a point. Steve walked over to a narrow table that was just below the mirror. He ran his finger along it. Do they still have maids coming to take care of this place? No dust.

Do you usually go into someone’s house and check for dust?

Hey, I’m just saying that this room isn’t dusty.

Well, you don’t know how long it’s been since your grandparents were here, do you?

Steve admitted that he did not.

Together, they walked through the ground floor, going from room to room. Steve started a mental list to keep tabs of everything they had come across so far: foyer, kitchen, dining room, formal dining room, sitting room (Sarah’s term for the round anteroom), two rooms that could pass for studies or offices, three bathrooms and a laundry room. There was no way they were going to be able to remember everything they had found. Ascending to the second floor, they found a well-stocked library, three guest rooms, two more bathrooms, another sitting room and a hobby room (Sarah discovered several sewing machines, an actual spinning wheel that looked as though it would still work, large stores of fabric and yarn, and great quantities of blank parchment).

The third story had enormous vaulted ceilings spanning the entire floor. This level yielded what could be described as an observatory--a large, powerful telescope had been set up in the round room, a huge sitting area with numerous bookcases lining the walls, an enormous bathroom, and a massive set of carved doors leading into the late Simon and Grace’s personal bedroom. The vast doors were wide open.

Steve moved closer to inspect the unusual doors. The door frames stood at least fifteen feet tall and had hand-carved dragons, fairies, swords, and other symbols covering every square inch of the surface. The doors also had carvings covering the entire surface area. Whereas the frames had multiple figures carved onto the surface, the doors themselves depicted one carved relief that spanned both doors. It was a scene of a valley, with mountains to the north, a sea to the east, with a multi-turreted castle to the northeast bordering the coastline.

Someone sure had plenty of time on their hands when they carved this. Steve ran his hands along one of the swords carved into either side of the frame. "This has