Circles of Seven by Bryan Davis Read Free Book Online Page A

the pockets of his pleated trousers, the professor gazed up at the sky and let out a long stream of white vapor. “Many people are offended when I speak freely about my faith, but I trust, now, that you are not.”
    Billy shrugged his shoulders. “No, I’m not offended.” He followed his teacher’s line of sight; the clouds had drifted to the west, exposing the northern sky. “What’s on your mind?”
    The professor pointed into the darkness. “Do you see that star?”
    “The one that looks kind of yellow?”
    “No. I believe you are referring to Kochab. Look more to the left.”
    “Okay. I think I’ve got it.”
    “That’s Polaris, the North Star.” He glanced down at Billy. “I assume you’ve heard of it.”
    “Sure. It’s always due north. Sailors used it for guidance back before satellites came around.”
    “And many explorers still use it.” The professor moved his finger in a counterclockwise circle. “If you could see a time-lapse film of the night sky, all the stars would stretch out into a stream and draw concentric circles with Polaris at the center, yet, for all practical purposes, Polaris would remain a single point—unmoved, always guiding, a light that never changes.”
    A fresh breeze blew across the field, biting through Billy’s flannel shirt. He zipped up his jacket and bounced on his toes. “I think I’ve seen a picture like that before, but I don’t remember where.”
    The professor shifted his finger up to the right. “And you probably recognize that constellation.”
    Billy ducked under the professor’s elbow and followed the angle of his arm. “I see the big dipper. Is that what you mean?”
    “Yes. Ursa Major. We call part of it ‘The Plough’ here in England, and in ancient times, it was called ‘King Arthur’s Chariot.’ Do you see how the two stars in the dipper make a line that points toward Polaris?”
    Billy pulled a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket and began slipping them on. “Sure, Prof. I’ve seen that before. I used to go out and look at the stars with Dad and . . .” Billy clenched his gloved fingers together. “So what’s all this got to do with your faith?”
    The professor drew out his own gloves from his back pocket and put them on, keeping his eyes on his fingers as he slowly pushed them into the holes. “Much of what you have learned about faith, you have learned from me, but where you are soon going, I cannot come.” He pulled out his watch again, fumbled the latch open through his thick gloves, then, after reading the time, snapped the casing shut. He kept it in his closed fist as he shifted his gaze to the northern sky. “God always provides a guiding light, William. No matter how dark it seems or how terrible the situation, you can always count on finding a glimmer, a spark of light in the deepest blackness that will tell you which way to go.”
    Billy watched the twinkling north star, imagining a lonely explorer looking up at the same star a thousand years ago, counting on its never-changing position to keep him on his charted course. When he turned to the professor, his teacher’s sad, deeply set eyes were trained directly on him.
    “Do you understand?” the professor asked.
    Billy nodded. “Yes.” He then looked back at the sky and wrapped his arms around his chest to battle a new gust of wind. “I think I know exactly what you mean.”
    The first hint of dawn appeared on the eastern horizon, and the professor stepped down from the berm onto the grassy field. “Now we can finally search the area.” His long legs stretched into a quick pace. “Bring Excalibur, William.”
    Billy hustled the few steps back to the tree where he had left Excalibur. He strapped the scabbard to his waist and vaulted over the embankment again, following his spry teacher into the circular field. He searched the grassy dome, scanning both the ground and the brightening sky. The clouds had moved in from the west again, but they couldn’t keep