A MIRACULOUS JOURNEY WITH THOR AND HISSTORY — CHAPTER EIGHT

Kyle Balthazan robed before sunrise and dashed to the race track. Though he felt out of sorts, which had accelerated recently and lingered in its frequency, he deflected his blues by pealing a rhyme he had written:

“If I wish to weight my shoes with sorrow,

I’ll be faced with the might of sheer fright every morrow.

I lightened my shoes, I run as I please.

I don’t give a hoot, though I’m damned with disease.”

Replicating chimes, he repeated the poem to pump up his adrenaline and bolster his confidence.

The waxing light dappled the slim figure leisurely leaning against a nearby tree, awaiting him.

“Think you can beat me?” Thor challenged.

Kyle grinned, “You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”

“Not today.”

“Okay, you’re on.”

The boys lined up on the track and settled into position.

“On your marks, get set, go,” called Kyle.

 They flew into action, their bodies a blur of speed. Kyle trotted daily, expecting to outdistance Thor, but hadn’t seen him train. Though evenly matched at the onset were the lads, signs showed Kyle he would soon be surpassed. Regardless, he struggled to uphold the pace, his eyes often darting to the remarkable image of unstoppable vim. Mercury incarnate in a classic portrait of fluid art was swift and nimble Thor from his effortless start, gliding in perpetual motion on the whim of the wind.

Dogged to win, cavalier Kyle leaped toward the finish line. Rustling up an energy burst to gain on Thor, he crossed ahead, stretched with the sum of his might. He had never run so fast. Hacks racked his winded body. He doubled over breathless, gulping oxygen through his puffing. Thor sped to his side.

“I’m fine,” wheezed the sick-looking minor, who felt faint gasping for oxygen, his tremulous hands tightly fisted.

Thor grabbed the kid’s clenched hand, pinching the muscles between Kyle’s thumb and index finger.

“Ow!” Kyle yanked his throbbing hand from Thor, but his coughing instantly subsided. He examined the pulsing appendage, then thrust it at the older youth. 

“Do it again.”

“No. I hurt you.”

“The hurt helped. Please, repeat.”

 Thor reapplied the pinch. Kyle’s eyelids fluttered, his breathing calmed. The pampering pressure relieved his aching, replaced by the spread of fatigue. 

“A trick?” asked Kyle.

“No trick.”

“Where’d you learn?”

“Nowhere.”

“How’d you know?”

“A hunch.”

“It came to you, just like that?”

“It did.”

“I feel better. Let’s sit for a bit.”

The boys sprawled on the grass adjacent to the track.

“Lie down, rest your head in my lap.” Thor’s murmur was mesmerizing.

Cradled in comfort, Kyle closed his eyes, trailing Thor’s stroke on his forehead as he slipped into slumber. The smell of breakfast tingling his nostrils woke the boy. The jade eyes above him twinkled, mirroring the sky ablaze with color at the advent of the sun. He sat up.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“A few minutes.”

“Minutes? Seemed like hours.” Kyle’s exhaustion had evanesced, but his candid mental appetite surfaced. He cocked his curious head, minus caution whither he tread. His ubiquitous hunt for knowledge was relentless.  

“Explain what you did.” 

“I can’t.”

“Another impulse?”

“A natural tendency.”

“Intrinsic, like the way you run?”

“How’s that?”

“You’re fast, Thor.”

“Not fast enough.”

“Fast enough for what?”

“For what lies ahead.”

“What lies ahead?”

“Beats me.”

“Like I beat you?”

“You ran a good race.”

“Not you, not honest.”

“What do you mean?”

“You want it straight?”

“Spit it out.”

“You cheated.”

“Cheated?”  

“Be upfront. I’m not a child. I can handle defeat.”

“So can I. You licked me.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Win, lose, whatever the outcome, I demand it be fair. Body language is redolent in racing. Your features, your posture tell tales of mendacity most unbecoming to you. Must I mope our disingenuous sport because you deny the obvious? I was panting. You slightly sucked air.”

“Black and white, you crossed the finish line first. There’s no gray in your win.”

“Don’t patronize me. I’m not a dope. This lick that you jest is a naughty farce. You’d be lying to say you ran your best. When a runner cheats, all runners lose. It’s the running that matters. That pure act I picked, but not you. I gave my maximum, while you cheated and failed the fundamental test. By bottling yourself, you spoiled our fun. Level with me; bury your toy. Why’d you hold back, indecorous at the end?”  

Thor was disarmed by the decent dying boy. “I’ve been coached to stay within the norm.”

Kyle spat on the grass in protest. His doughty candor broached the profound. He tossed his inhibition aside and confronted Thor void of pride. “Poor choice in coaches. Were you born to live a lie and fume at yourself at the finish? Then what’s your purpose, Thor?” 

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

“What’d you feel derailing yourself?”

“Disgust.”

“Serves you right. I sensed we were on the same page, though evidently not the same paragraph. You disappointed me. I don’t have time for people who sail through life not pushing their limits. Ever been clocked?”

Thor shook his head.

“Ever raced with a fellow before today?”

Another shake from the senior.

“I accept the enigma sheathing you, but I’m intolerant of dishonesty. Self-deception is worse than fooling the world. I may die tomorrow, but I gallop with my flag unfurled. Hail yourself and the mates you race. Falsifying your efforts is a grave mistake. Meet me at dawn for a dash of zeal. I’d thrill for a gait that’s lightning fast. Will you promise you’ll run for real?”  

“I promise, Kyle. I’ll race unbridled for you.”   

“You took an oath, so be warned. I won’t let you off the hook. Hungry for breakfast?”

“You bet.”

The junior and the senior rose and ambled to the dining hall. 

*     *     * 

The lullaby twirled on his tongue as Dov awoke post Thor, but prior to Ruslan, to hang on a hum that had beamed in a dream. The tune held an urge he couldn’t purge, compelling him to dress. Led by the dancing drum in his head, he was charmed from the dorm into the corridors. His mounting marvel craved to be fed.

Kids surged to the dining hall, but Dov was lured by the mystic siren’s song. Without pause, he continued on his route. The sweet cadence splurged as he neared Amiry Kinchell’s class. The evocative treat that peaked within jolted his eyes and ears. His heart thumped at the pulse of his find, as did his mind springboard in kind to transit to that distant rhyme, his grandma singing the lullaby. Solemn as a sermon in this random place, he felt showered by the stamp of Thor’s grace. What roused his friend’s imagination to elicit this sterling transformation? Thor had helmed a childhood retreat; the beat of that melodic memory fired Dov’s feet.

Tears in twos trickled down Dov’s face. He stumbled to the garden to thwart disgrace, jostling the pathos in seclusion to fall, but watching the weeping with wonder was the perched butterfly. Chorused bees were buzzing and widespread robins chirping. The pink spider he’d saved on a web was fussing. The cogent symphony struck him by surprise; seductive aromas serenaded softly, I’m Thor’s enterprise. This halcyon haven taken for granted was nurtured by Thor’s closeted antic. Ruby poppies rippled round rosebud stems sublime. The seal Dov espied bore the brand of divine. Sizable saucers scrambled his eyes saluting Thor’s tribute to paradise. Jumbled in awe, his fumbling mind transcended time. The garden of the sacrament gleaned his features circumspect; his pledge to his pal loomed pertinent. 

*     *     *  

Before she heard the hubbub, Amiry Kinchell detected the atmosphere of exhilaration. Her pace quickened with agitation as she strove to discover the cause of the commotion. On her watch, she was responsible if students broke the laws. Habitually at the Institute early morn, a fidgety night and plodding trek resulted in her belated arrival. As she closed in on the ruckus, nerves hit her hard. The genesis of the bedlam was centered in her classroom. She gaped in consternation at the culprit, understanding then why Thor had said to wait until morning. Sparkling in sidereal motion was the fossil exhibit. She mused if he had comprehended the extent of his experiment in the midst of its forming. He had harnessed light to do his bidding. The sun festooned the fossils sitting on the ledges. The strength of his exploration had produced this unparalleled sensation, dazzling the mind bedecked in inebriation.

The crux of the scenic display had not been evinced the previous day because of the ebbing luminary. The essence wasn’t fossils. The pith was the sun, and blossomed in full force that mighty star had come. The translucent fossils shimmered from within, their unctuous backlit edges emblazoned. Magnified silhouettes waltzed on the walls; interspersing rainbows arabesqued like myriad waterfalls. 

Eclipsing the physical anomaly was the primal mental aberration. The brilliance of the handsome exhibit spurred a saturated insight, beaconing back to a childhood delight. Empowered images scrabbling the walls translated into individual germinal recalls. None were exempt from the kinetic stimulant when immersed in the vibrating room. Squealing with enthusiasm, volatile pupils wouldn’t stop babbling.

Once Amiry entered the fray, she charged the contagion on the madhouse stage. The petite lady was a classic authority pro. Capturing the limelight, she commanded the show. Pirouetting in her element, she seized control of the melee using outstanding embellishment. Manipulating the topic, she imparted what her spellbound students were eager to hear and encouraged raised hands that dared to share their childhood memories. Thus, the pandemonium was allayed by discussion of the fossils and the pivotal role that sunlight played. Amiry’s smile at mellowing mayhem was smug; the State would have no reason to send out its rambling representative thug. 

*     *     * 

Ruslan approached Dov on a break betwixt classes.

“We need to talk.”

“With Thor?”

“Not yet. The garden. Let’s go.”

“How about lunchtime? I don’t want to be tardy for class.”

“Now, Dov. You’ll be punctual if we rush.”

The garden was deserted, but the boys hunched undercover in the bushes nonetheless. Ruslan breathed the air of an inquisitor.

“You saw it?” 

“Saw what?”

“Mrs. Kinchell’s new display.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You know he did it.”

Wrinkling his nose, Dov repeated with emphasis. “It’s beautiful.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Does.”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“We need to be united. Our stance must be strong. You and I must marshal this together.”

Dov stepped into his mental shoes; would they fit to voice his discrepant views? “Marshal what? Drive a stake through his heart?”

Grounded in the practical, Ruslan detected Dov’s defection into cloth becoming radical. “We’re saving him, not staking him. Don’t you get it? This is not a feat to cheer, but nonsense he must halt.”

“Nonsense? Is that what you call the intricacies of his creation? Could you do it? Could I? Did you at least consider the complexities?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“Oh, really? To whom does it matter? Qualify yourself. Name one person that truly cares about an inane school exhibit?”

“Dov Pendergast, that’s who. I heard music when the light tapped my sight. Did you?”  

“Music? You’re as crazy as his gambles.”

“Since when are you the judge of that?”

“Since my family disappeared. Are you forgetting that?”

“I’m sorry about your family, but I don’t believe Thor was born to be a prisoner.”

“And my family was?”

“That’s just plain ugly. You know I didn’t say that.” 

“This fatuous display is transitory, not a genius story bound for glory. Is it worth the penalty of a prisoner the duration of his life or imbruted to death as a scourge upon the earth?”

“He’s a prisoner to you if he should yield, stranded in the custody of your stringent shield. He mustn’t give in to confinement, or he’ll lose any chance he has to win. His sights are set on a path divine. His road to Rome is his nisus to wield, not yours or mine to criticize.”

“We’re brothers-in-arms. I’m looking out for my pal, while you’re turning a blind eye. Will you have the gall to seek forgiveness after facilitating his demise? You surmise he can outwit the authority artifice? You presume he’s invincible? No one’s immune to the infectious State and its lock step rules. We’ll go down with his ship of imperiled fools. Is that what fellowship means to you?” 

“You dragged me out here to plot behind his back. Is that what fellowship means to you?”

“It’s a plan, not a plot.”

“Your plan to put him out of gear is a plot.” 

“Lighten up. He can handle it.”

“You’re no authority on that.”

“Neither are you, based on your bias.”

“What bias?”

“You idolize him.”

“I respect him.”

“Are you insinuating I don’t?”

“Elucidate your strategy to save him.”   

“Simple. Conform to the commonplace.”

“Iron him facedown formula flat by a sledgehammer concrete cookie-cutter dough? Postulate your respect when you’ve crippled him.”

“Harsh description. I’m not cruel. He’ll be saved.”

“A pancake pattern neatly packaged in the status quo is not a save. He’ll be crippled.”

“Are you saying people don’t enjoy productive lives due to disabilities? I don’t perceive you less of a person because you have a limp.”

Dov looked stricken, his reserve rattled. “Disabilities? Is that your euphemistic term for imposing a muzzle on our pal to contaminate his inherent maturity?”

“I’m not imposing a muzzle; I’m offering a road map to rescue him.”

“Your map pinpointing orthodoxy will blind side his reality. What kind of rescue is an offer like that?”

“A gateway out of this mess.”

“What mess?”

“His untenable position.”

“Just the inverse. His position is tenable. Yours is not.”

“Your opinion’s not fact; my position’s based on my family’s fact.”

“No disrespect, but your family’s fact is not Thor’s fate. Chief is the fact your road map’s a mess, fraught with formidable traps. What joy is in store for him mined with inbuilt mishaps? A lobotomy of his mind, an amputation of his heart, a castration of his soul, express the respect in that welcome mat. You vowed your allegiance. What of your pact?”

“My pact is intact. Will that suffice? Or is an opinion of opposition considered a vice?”

“To be at odds is not a vice. Thor has a perspective, you’ve a perspective, and I’ve delved into my own. I sobbed at the symbol that roared in the wake of his feat. Same as your family, victims like Thor suffer because they’re dubbed unique. What you assess an inane display made me search my marrow. I’ve been ruminating why I sit silent when a class of persecuted people plead that they’re part of the human race, not a pandemic. Here we are his so-called pals, chastening him to hush and hide. It may not be wise, but I’ll be damned if I don’t support his quest not to be pegged a pestilence.”

“That’s royal. Two musketeers shaping maneuvers versus the State and a world of apathy. I’d shred that dour book.” 

“A strike against one is a strike against all. Depriving one’s rights is humanity’s downfall.” 

“How many of your meek do you suppose you’ll reach with the plateau of prattle you’re launching to preach?”

“Meek does not equate with weak. Look at Thor, a potent magician clad in humility. We’ve never heard him vaunt his abundant ability. Nobody would guess his enormous finesse. Magical in his makeup of modesty, he’s the humblest mortal I know. Have you ever thought about this garden?”   

“This garden?”

“You frequent it, but how much do you know about it?”

“Amusing ploy, but your diversion won’t work. Unlike you to go off topic.” 

“Am I?”

“What’s Thor to this garden?”

“He’s germane, a silent wizard enamored with adorning every inch of his domain. He crafted this garden to grow. The vast showcase we admire proudly sports the font of his polymath pedigree.”    

“You’re daft.”

“You’re dense. I’ve been digging around with a dearth of details. Not one person knows who plotted, planted, or even maintains it. None care about its origin, but all are sated in the scope of its melodious vision, oblivious to its shroud of mystery.”

“Big deal. What’s mysterious about a bunch of plants?”

“We don’t have a gardener!”

“A gardener? So what? You’re nitpicking.”

“Nitpicking? This is not a wild jungle; it’s a manicured masterpiece. While we gallivant around it, I’ll bet he spends tons of time tending it, cultivating, pruning, mowing, raking. Lacking credit without admission, he’s unassuming, not driven by aggrandizing ambition. I have no clue what’s at stake with the pioneer risks he tends to take for the benefit of others. He himself is a fecund garden, inborn with a treasure chest to offer, and his endowments that enrich are anonymous. Or do you conjecture he fueled some self-serving mission by transforming mediocre fossils into a spontaneous supernal vision?”

“Exposed to your inflated introspection, no answer of mine will do. You’re etched in a stone stoked with accolades absent a salutary disposition for the prominent point of self-preservation.”

“Which is what to Thor? Recreate himself to stay out of jeopardy? You skipped the preeminent point. For him to shape is innate, and though I can’t relate, I won’t tolerate a world of anomaly hate. To be true to himself, he shouldn’t have to suffer. He has a right to fulfill his destiny, not be truncated in misery. I don’t care that he’s a mystery like this garden. I want to watch him burgeon. Regardless if he’s outside my realm to protect, I will not disavow Thor and defect. No, Ruslan, I won’t gang up with you to press him to pretend he’s average. We may dive over a looming ledge, but I embrace him with the reign of my steadfast pledge.” 

More than that, Dov didn’t articulate. He foresaw the bearing of this decisive day and ascended to discard the brambles of schism with squabbling Ruslan.

*     *     *

The halls echoed the din of chatter. The kids seemed livelier with a hustle of excitement, but did not matter to Thor. He didn’t hear the bubbling brew; from extraneous noise, he withdrew. Focus on his road to Rome kept him on a tight leash tethered to his inward home. His discourse with Kyle took precedence; he wasn’t distracted by a piddling impediment. From time to time, he whistled an unfamiliar refrain. Walking toward Amiry Kinchell’s room, the crescendo began to burst. He hadn’t seen either pal that day until Dov caught up with him.

“Anything different?” whispered Dov, pointing to his aura.

“Plenty. You knew?” marveled Thor at the blue and violet streaks that were anything but shy.

“Educated guess. The song you’re whistling, know what it is?”

“I don’t.”

“I do. A lullaby my grandma sang to me.”

Thor was perplexed. “How can that be?”

“Mrs. Kinchell’s fossil exhibit.”

Thor tensed. “Do I hear an accusation?”  

“Don’t get me wrong. A slice of your repertoire gave birth to this act, but did I enable your aspect? Cite the key that inspired you. Am I related?” 

Thor’s features clouded with bewilderment, until a dawning cleared the mist to the piece of the puzzle purveyed he had missed. “You are related, Dov. You’re the key incentive.” 

Dov was buoyant. “That’s what I cognized, but look whither it led. You tied the individual microcosm to the universal macrocosm. The magical mind tangible to your Midas touch channels the ethereal into corporeal. How in tune is that?”

Thor stood somber at the portal; the fossils touched his inner core.

Dov was wistful. “I’ll bet you’re thinking of your childhood.” 

“I am.”

“So am I. This manifestation sings to me. I’d jump at the chance my norm to flee and stand beside you in liberty, not to parrot what’s uniform, but prevent those uncommon from facing scorn.”    

“Not everyone will sing your praises, with red flags waving that this crown of laurels raises,” rebuked Ruslan with a sarcastic sting from behind. He was straight not to pander; his vociferation objected to meander.   

Classmates were entering, but the low-voiced triumvirate retreated into the emptying corridor. 

Dov reproved, “Relent, Ruslan. You’re too hard on him.”

“You’re too easy. With feats like this, word will spread.”

“I have faith in the future. Why clothe what he does with constant dread? You’re limited by your provincial clutch. There’s more than what you see and touch.”

“I believe what I see and touch; forcing my faith is asking too much.”

Thor took a keynote stance. “We’re not asking that, Ruslan. Faith cannot be forced. We grow as brothers scouting our path through our dissent. Enough spouted. Class is starting.”

By now, Amiry was adept with her handle. She stirred the broth without boiling the spice of student interference. Yet time crawled, tainted by torment for Thor. Though lighthearted with his mates, perceived disruptions he abhorred. He’d planted the cerebral on a visceral shore. Amiry noticed he was distressed. She couldn’t guess his consummation by swelling stress. He trembled spying a fleeting shadow pass over her. Upon the heels of the ominous shade that colored her gray came an outbreak of mounting cold. Mischievous slants of light rolled in a batter of bold that took on the look of invidious snow. He alone shivered from anathema images of monumental icicles, decimating daggers dealt by an immortal foe.  

The bell rang. Students dispersed, but Thor remained trapped in an exclusive curse. Ruslan and Dov idled at the exit for him.   

“What’s wrong?” asked Ruslan.

“You don’t look well,” Dov remarked. 

Thor shrugged. “I’ll meet up with you later. We’ll talk then.”  

He gestured to Amiry Kinchell. His friends, though concerned, took the hint and left.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think –”

Amiry cut him off. “Shush. Don’t apologize for who you are. You did nothing amiss.”

“I shouldn’t have –”

“Mum’s the word.”

“What will happen?”

“Nothing. I’m dismantling it at school’s end.”

“I’ll do it.”

“You stay clear. I’ll erase it.”

Amiry was firm with a cheery smile, escorting Thor out the door, trying to convince him not to worry.  After his departure, she awaited her next class and the impending task, her glum features smoothing to represent a well-worn serenity mask.

*     *     *

Theogen suspected trouble upon returning from a long-winded mandatory city council session. The face of his assistant was transparent, though her speech was insouciant.

“Since you have no remaining consults, you might want to check out Amiry’s new exhibit.”

“Why?”

Dayerlin sniffled. “Emotive memories are enlivened.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Everyone has.” Drops escaped her welled-up eyes. She brushed off the spillage that seldom occurred.

“Dayerlin, what’s the matter?”

“It’s… immersive.” 

“You’re crying about Amiry’s display?”

“Recollections from my childhood.”

Theogen walked with a calm dignity acquired from a lifetime of containment, his features rivaling the smoothest granite surface, placid and polished. Amiry was sinking into her chair when he entered. She sprang upright, spooked by his sight.

“What an acme, Amiry. I’m told it’s the talk of the town.”

“I thought I’d try a fresh approach.”

“Fresh indeed. Like blue roses,” Theogen murmured, reflecting on the rare artist he recognized. The unmistakable splendid signature could neither be forged nor categorized.

“What did you say?”

“Explicate precisely how you achieved the animated light effect.”

“Experimentation.”

“How did you invoke the mass arousal of primordial memories? Enlighten me on that ingenious correlation.”

“Unintended consequences.”

“I thought as much. Best to tone it down.” 

“I’m taking it down.”

“Better. Need help?”

“If I put it up, I can take it down, but what a shame it can’t remain.”

Amiry discerned the fleeting look leap off Theogen. To his credit, it left no trace.

“Your youth?”

“Painted ponies of innocence prance in a joy as I reminisce, but my carousel youth as a lad quite uncouth is better left in the dust.”

Theogen left with a heavy heart. Maintaining control was a praxis art, but on par with Theogen was Amiry. The drab door closed with a dismal thud to insulate from interruption. The taste in her mouth was rancid. The dreary finality of her sour purpose mired her in a quicksand of tired. When she stood on the stool that Thor had used the previous afternoon, the fossils were beyond her range. A ladder crossed her weary mind, but the dinosaur book was a simpler find. Massive and thick, it complemented the stool to add to her height.

At the same time, Thor, on course to the Museum, was brusquely blown by an impulsion that hastened him home. 

Fatigue fogged Amiry. From a sleepless night to an anxious-ridden day, the overwrought lady, atop the book precarious on the elevated stool, strained to reach a fossil on the window sill, unbalanced herself, and teetered.   

Thor charged the door, furious to find he was too late. Beside the toppled stool and jettisoned book lay Amiry in acute pain.

She exclaimed, “I can’t stand, Thor. Help me.”

He dropped to the floor and grasped her hand in reassurance. “Don’t move. I’ll get aid.” 

Her hand tingled after he left; the ache lessened. She closed her drowsy eyes, intent on the waning pain of the hand he had held.

Thor returned, clasping her hand again. “An ambulance is coming. You’ll be fine.”

Renewed heat held her attention. She studied his features, flustered to mention. “I thought so,” she muttered. “Be careful, Thor.”

The two paramedics tenderly lifted Amiry onto the stretcher. Theogen signed required forms. The talk of tests for fractures flooded Thor with guilt.

“I’m coming with her.”

“Sorry, not permitted,” responded the senior paramedic.

Theogen interceded. “I’ll sign the consent to waive the restriction. The boy can go.”

“Will you tell Mr. Klingshire?” Thor asked.

“I will,” Theogen stated. “I’ll be round shortly.” 

The lighted fossils danced the day’s finale; the ambulance brigade hesitated. 

“Reminds me when I was a kid,” commented the senior paramedic.

“Me, too,” concurred the other, as they exited the room.

Thor’s eyes flashed, “I’ll meet you out front.” 

He shut the door to intrusion, the sole witness to the light and sound of the seething volcano erupting from within. He wasn’t sure how to begin until a timbre ignited in him. He uttered the livid rasping moan, his eyes inflamed as lava from the fiery foam. Fissured fossils plummeted to dust; in a burst of combustion some crashed on the floor. Like a whip he lashed out, “Nevermore,” turned on his heels and stormed out the door.

Gone was the glare of the sun with no more chance to blare. Yet his hurricane of hurled wrath that dashed the fossils in a fury, he regretted in a hurry. He deemed his revenge horrid, rash not sage. He was not in a rush to flip the next page. Would he be blessed with wisdom or rendered to a cage for the expression of his rage? 

After the ambulance left, Theogen returned to Amiry’s empty class. He pondered the carnage of amazing amplitude. Wisps of smoke curled around charred edges and scattered cinders amidst the powdery residue. Who was he harboring under his roof? The time had come to get involved, not remain aloof. Prudent with a broom, he swept the hallmark rubble. Why the fossils tumbled and smashed, he dared not speculate, his motive on the harbinger he scurried not to sink. The whisking broom would brake Thor’s seismic ship from sailing to a fire storm brink. The rabbit the indomitable teen had pulled out of the hat was discreetly buried under the race track. The State would not investigate the lair of the renascent phoenix rising in seminal infancy from ashes of human despair. The hidden debris would float his vessel in the safe harbor of liberty. Sans anchor waving free, the winged sails unfurling in the budding breeze could scale the crest of the cosmic sea.