The House of Grey- Volume 2 (6 page)

Monson was surprised when Damion appeared mid-morning on the second day of tryouts, at the entrance of a massive tent-like structure reserved for authorized personnel. He glanced around calmly as he surveyed the scene. Many in the crowd noticed him immediately, and their rapt expressions revealed the awe he inspired. Monson's view of Damion was cut short the minute he walked out of the tent and was mobbed by the waiting media and adoring fans.

 
Monson was excited about Damion's cameo for a multitude of reasons. Mostly because it was the first time Monson had actually seen him aside from that glimpse the first day of school.  Of course, since they had competed against each other in the Knowledge Bowl it wasn’t the only time, but it was the only time Monson could actually remember.

Also, Monson found himself watching Damion just out of simple curiosity. The kid had drawn an unbelievable amount of hype as a student athlete.  He was active in baseball, basketball and football, and people speculated that he could go professional in any of the three.  He was a regular at the hottest nightspots in L.A. and New York despite his age, and supposedly occupied more covers of magazines than Michael Jordan himself.  (Monson did not know who Michael Jordan was, but according to Casey, this was a big deal.) ESPN's local edition said Damion Peterson’s type of talent was “born once in a generation” and that very talent would be responsible for three state titles in three different sports.

The whole celebrity things mattered very little to Monson. No, the thing that made him curious about Damion was that his only connection to him was the reason for much of his grief in the early days of school. Monson wanted to know about the guy. Was he as bitter as many of his classmates? How did it feel to have the world literally bowing down at your feet? What did the limelight do to you on a personal level?  They were all interesting questions, indeed.

Damion seemed confident but not haughty, unlike Derek. He was patient with reporters, answering questions with a smile, and was relaxed and friendly with teammates. He seemed very likeable—almost too likable, truth be told. He was also very good-looking, commanding the attention of just about everyone, male and female, wherever he went. Monson wondered if that kind of attention might be fun for a little while, but get old at some point.

Monson also quickly discovered another benefit to Damion’s presence: Everyone left Monson alone. For the time being, the scarred little freshman
Horum Vir
was just not as interesting as the sports god. Monson definitely did not mind. It was nice to get out of the spotlight.

  
Damion was always busy doing something, talking to someone, going somewhere. He moved from group to group greeting people, shaking hands, and smiling. All in all, he seemed just about perfect—either that or he was a really good actor.

 
Tryouts proceeded in a quasi-circus-like atmosphere with sports stars and celebrities milling about the grounds. Monson idled the time away watching Casey, accompanied by Artorius’ almost constant chatter concerning the who’s who of famous people. They remained on the side bleachers away from the throng until Damion walked right by them.  It was like magic. One minute there was chatter and laughter, then the next, silence, as Damion stood not ten feet away.   

It was a tense moment for Monson because he was not sure how the superstar would react to him. Damion’s eyes fell upon the two of them, despite the fact that he was attempting to divide his conversation among a half-dozen other people. Dirty blonde hair fell messily into hazel-brown eyes. His eyebrows were prominent, his jaw line robust, and his stubble masculine.

Damion turned towards Monson and Artorius, who were both staring like deer in headlights, and waved. Then, his gaggle of girls and groupies in tow, he continued off towards a group of waiting reporters.

“
Was he waving at you or me?” asked Monson, looking confusedly at Artorius.

“
I don’t know,” answered Artorius. “I don’t know him personally, do you?”

“
Not that I know of.”

Artorius looked towards the still-retreating Damion. “Weird.”

“
Weird indeed.”

Damion's cryptic actions aside, the day passed with ease.  Football and famous people were interesting to watch, even if Monson knew little about either. The excitement was something that you could cut with a knife as students mingled with the up-and-coming. Monson, much to his enjoyment, remained separated from it all. There were no dirty looks or whispered conversations. It was just Artorius and him, relaxing. Despite the respite from the normal tumult, he knew it was too good to last, and he was right.

A horn on the loudspeakers announced a sort of entrance song like the ones pro wrestlers use when they are trying to be flashy. With the sounding of the first notes, the male population of the school went wild, as if some rabies-like virus suddenly infected them. They ran to the front of a large raised platform, literally drooling in anticipation.

Artorius, who’d moments earlier left for the bathroom, ran up to Monson at a breakneck speed. He stopped suddenly and almost fell. He righted himself without missing a beat.

“
Grey, we got to move or all the good spots will be taken.” He pulled Monson up and started to move him. “Man, we aren’t going to be able to see anything if we don’t hurry,” he said desperately.

“
What aren’t we going to be able to see?” asked Monson, “Artorius, what are you on about?”

Artorius eyes bulged comically. “You don’t know?”  

Monson sighed; of course he did not know. He
never
knew.

Artorius gave him a wide, slightly lecherous smile. “The cheerleading squad is performing, Grey. The
cheerleading
squad.”

 
From what Monson pieced together, apparently a cheerleading squad was a group of girls that attended the various sports games to cheer for their school’s team, and apparently it was a big deal.  It sounded kind of silly to him; why the games needed something like that was beyond him. Seemed like sort of a waste of time and resources.  It was not until Monson saw the girls
in
their cheerleading attire that he decided how wrong he was.

   
The cheerleaders wore short red skirts with gold trim that were cropped above mid-thigh, showing off their strong, tanned legs. Allegedly, the attire was designed to make their acrobatic feats easier, but Monson was sure that was not the only reason.  Sleeveless white and gold tops that did not quite cover the midriff begged for attention from anyone fortunate enough to be close to the girls.  Bright white shoes with no visible sock rounded out the outfit and gave the blatantly sexualized ensemble a wholesome touch that did not quite help Monson shake off the feeling that really, he should be averting his eyes.

Understandably, many of the cameramen and reporters seemed just as enthralled by the cheerleading “practice” as the male members of the student body. Predictably and more than once, Monson caught these gentlemen ogling the girls. There were just too many wealthy, beautiful girls at this school to avoid making an event of this.  
Again
, thought Monson,
leave it to the rich to make something bigger than it deserves
.

The tryouts, the media, the cheerleading squad—all of it came as a great shock to Monson, who had never seen anything resembling this before. His astonishment reached a new level, however, when Taris and Indigo, both wearing cheerleading attire, seemed to compete for his attention after their practice.

“
So what do you think?” Indigo asked him as she twirled in a circle, holding the skirt with the tips of her fingers. “I look good, don’t I?”

During the cheerleading performance, Monson had found himself thinking how good she did in fact look. It was just difficult to answer when Artorius was so obviously affected by her.

“
Uhh…yes, I think you look rather nice.”

She beamed.

“
Monson! There you are!”

All three of them turned in unison and spotted Taris Green.  

 “
Where have you been, Grey? I’ve been looking for you.”

Monson gave her a confused look. Where had he been? He had been there the entire time.

“
Taris, what—”

Taris cut him off.  “And who is this?” She glared at Indigo.

Indigo gave her a very nasty sneer but did not answer.

“
Anyway,” said Taris, continuing as if Indigo wasn’t even there, “Monson, what were you saying? Oh that’s right. You were telling me how good I look in my outfit.”

Indigo prevented Monson from answering. “He was telling you, or you were forcing him to do so?”

The conversation devolved from there. Finally Monson and Artorius were able to extricate themselves from the polite yet furious girls. Monson made a mental note to try to keep those two away from each other in the future.  

*****

The hours flew by. Before Monson knew it, evening was upon them and the sun began to descend between two of the four mountains that made up Coren County. Sunlight broke through distant rain clouds, creating a colorful, shadowy show upon the ground.

Perched on one of the grass knolls surrounding the Yard and Battlegrounds, Monson looked around as the sky darkened. The tryout venue was a very different sight now that all the reporters were gone—and presumably now partying at one of the reception halls. Monson wasn’t sure why he himself was still lingering around the stands. He needed to leave; Casey and Artorius were probably waiting for him. But he was reluctant to do so. The breeze was slightly scented and refreshing, and while he had every reason to get up and leave, he had all the more reason to stay. It was quiet here.

Voices interrupted Monson’s musings.  It sounded like an argument. Curious, Monson stood up and followed the sound. The voices were…musical, unlike any he had previously heard. They drew him to them. Unable to resist, he walked slowly away from his spot on the hill away from the lighted stands.

He stepped from the path, using the glint of the full moon through the foliage as guidance. A spot of light loomed on the path in front of him. The voices came from that spot.

“
It is my place to act. You know this; it is the task that has been set before me,” said a female voice.

A gruff and cold reply, one that made Monson cringe, followed. “You are but a fragment, a whimsical sliver without greater purpose. I will not—”

A third voice echoed, distant yet firm, “We have no choice—you know that we have no choice. Such circumstance is unknown—the barrier is strong, but not strong enough.”

The gruff, cold voice became angry. “Then let us bear down upon this barrier, let us destroy it with our own hands so that all may become whole.”

The female voice interceded. “He is not ready, he would surely die—just like the last instance.”

“
He is of the House of Grey! I shall not tolerate—”

Monson had had enough. Feeling compelled to do so, he rushed towards the voices, crashing through several yards of thick vegetation.

They are on the other side of this clearing
, thought Monson,
just on the other side of this….
 

He broke through into the clearing but the only thing he saw was trees and moonlight.

Chapter 16- Atlantis

After the season openers for football, volleyball and variety of other sports, life settled down again and students fell into a routine. By the time they noticed, a whole month had passed.

“
Please study these pictures for a moment,” said Mr. Gatt on a cold Friday afternoon in mid-October. “What do you see?”

The class looked at the blackboard in concentration. A picture, similar to the one Mr. Gatt displayed the first day of class, sat in the center. A gorgeous painting depicting a male and female in the act of a romantic embrace became the focus of the class' attention. The setting was a ripe yet foreboding forest with the duo in the exact middle of the frame.

The man wore a torn, bloody shirt and although thin, an ample amount of muscle with rippling biceps and defined shoulders was visible through the shirt. His skin was a sickly looking dark grey and his eyes were a deep blood red. These eyes were finely detailed, and while the color threw the viewer off just a bit, you could see that they were soft and compassionate, maybe even humble.  His disposition seemed passive, almost apprehensive, like he was unsure of the righteousness of the current embrace. Nevertheless, he held the woman close, cradling her like she was the one thing he held most dear.   He loved her, of that Monson was certain. This man, or whatever he might be, loved this woman with all his heart.

Even with the detail of the grey-skinned man, the woman could not be forgotten. She was amazingly beautiful with long, silver-black hair and icy blue, proud eyes. The expression she wore seemed to reflect an emotional conflict, though the reason for this was a mystery. Why was she looking at him like that? What was she feeling?

The woman’s hand was touching his chest, skirting edges of deep lacerations on his upper torso. Their clothing was tattered, as if this meeting was accidental in the midst of a battle. Specks of fiery red, Monson thought it was blood, trickled down massive white wings that flared from the woman’s back like billowing clouds. Who were these people? Or better yet,
what
were they?  

A girl two rows down from Monson raised her hand to answer. Mr. Gatt pointed at her and she gestured toward the left side of the painting.

“
I don’t know about anyone else, but he looks like a goblin or something.”

Snickering rippled through the class as people pondered the statement. Mr. Gatt smiled.

“
You are not completely off, Mindy. However, not exactly what I am looking for. Yes, Simon? ”

It was one of the twins that hung around with Mauller.