- This story is part of a collaborative project with additional talented writers. The previous chapters can be found here: https://theprose.com/post/438830/tag-list-and-schedule
All of the sights of Little Dafford had left Brian in awe, but nothing like the training grounds of the warrior army. Once he stepped through the iron gate that Coban opened, he observed sparring matches of a good hundred warriors, all armored with protection that was on par with the iron walls that surrounded the vast dirt grounds. Brian had not seen much combat in his life besides a few fist fights in his school days, but instead of being overwhelmed by the mighty men and women battling around him, he felt more determined than ever to join their ranks.
The pair finally reached a large roundhouse, and Brian followed Coban in. A tall, lanky man sat up on a cot and smiled at Coban.
"Lad! I thought I gave thee the day off? Or do ye have a recruit for me?"
"He requested an audience with you." Coban groaned. "My brother dumped him on me, and insisted I answer his questions. The bloke wouldn't drop the prospect of being trained to fight as a warrior. Can you deal with him? My apologies Master Ravok."
"Nonsense son, the more the merrier!" Ravok chuckled. "Leave 'em ere, and I'll size up his potential."
Coban bowed down, then ran out as quick as he could. Ravok arose from the cot, and walked to the corner of the room where the cries "Sword Up!" were coming out of a crystal that flashed various bright colors. Ravok put his hand on the crystal, and it reverted to a bright white before going silent.
"Sorry, figured better turn off thee game so I could hear ye out." Ravok said warmly as he approached Brian.
"That was a game?" Brian asked. "I assumed that was a battle!"
"Nah, just an old game where two teams are trying to get thee other's king. The crystal there taps into locations where games get played, and I listen to 'em to relax."
"So, like a radio broadcast?"
"Never heard of a radio, that some kind of magic from ye village?"
"Yeah, some kind of magic." Brian replied.
This is really the leader? He seems too laid back compared to everyone outside.
"Anyway, you're the leader of the warriors? Pardon me if I sound a bit rude, but you seem a bit different from the others out there."
Ravok looked at Brian incredulously before letting out a great belly laugh.
"Don't believe in me skills eh? Alright then, take me on if ye think ye can!"
"Hold on, I have no training! Forgive me, I didn't mean to upset-"
"Upset? Hardly! I've seen much on the battlefield far more upsetting. I have nothing to prove, just want to see what ye may bring to the army. Here, let me give ye something to help."
Ravok stomped his foot, and a hole opened up in the floor. A shelf emerged from the opening in front of Brian. The shelf was decked with various armor, helmets, shields, and weapons.
"Go on, feel free to borrow from me armory." Ravok said cheerfully. "Everything here is imbued with magic, and will enhance ye abilities."
Brian donned a matching steel helmet, chest plate, and a long sword. Ravok wasn't bluffing, as Brian now felt like he could take on ten armies thanks to the magic from the gear. He turned to Ravok, who then carried over a handful of white powder, which he then proceeded to spread around Brian.
"Before ye face me, let's see how ye fare in a farce battle."
"Farce battle?" Brian questioned.
"The substance around ye will simulate a battleground, and a foe of ye choice." Ravok explained as the powder evaporated into a fog that surrounded Brian. "Ye thoughts will be read, and the battle ye envision will appear. Don't worry, tis merely an illusion, but a fine way to measure fighting skills."
Brian was surrounded by darkness, and one of the fiends that had previously tortured him stood before him, wearing his wife's face and smirking.
"After I play with you, I'm gonna gut you and deliver your insides to your lady." The monster laughed cruelly.
"Not this time!" Brian screamed, charging at the beast. He felt amazing as he lunged, not only feeling faster and stronger, but fully aware of how to use the sword he held, even without proper training. Magic truly is an amazing thing.
"Awwwww, so the hapless fool thinks he can take me now, huh?" The monster mocked as Brian drew closer. "No matter what enhancements you hold, you are noth-"
Brian sliced the monster's head off, apologizing to Sarah under his breath. He continued slashing the headless fiend until a bloody pile of gore was all that remained. The darkness cleared and the creature remains then vanished. Brian then found himself looking at a grinning Ravok a few feet ahead.
"The gear ye chose approved of ye, well done indeed! Now come at me lad, and face a real opponent!"
"Aren't you going to equip yourself?" Brian asked.
"No need, I am protected enough." Ravok smiled. "Ye have shown me what ye can do, now give me ye best!"
Brian was worried that he could truly maim Ravok with the power he held from his armor and sword, but he assumed that Ravok wouldn't agree to this without some kind of enhancements of his own, even if he was only wearing a simple leather shirt and trousers. He felt the same level of skill that he had felt during the mock battle a moment ago as he charged at Ravok.
"Impressive approach, now use thee sword lad!" Ravok said as he stood his ground, even without a weapon of his own at his disposal.
Brian swung the sword involuntarily as instructed. Ravok smiled as he ducked under the strike. He then lunged at Brian and tripped him, knocking him to the ground. Ravok caught the sword that slipped from his opponent's grasp, and pointed it at his neck.
"This gear is incredible, and made me feel incredible." Brian said with awe, as Ravok lowered the sword and helped him up. "But I still had no chance against you. Please tell me, was there a special magic that you used just now?"
"Nay lad, just me own personal strength from training, along with the blessing of the great Lyrane!"
"Lyrane? Who's that?"
"Our God of strength and courage of course! Me and all the warriors in our army possess Lyrane's blessing. As long as we keep his favor, we triumph in any battle, even without magic!"
Brian stood in awe once more, remembering Olban's revelation of the gods of his world earlier. So Lyrane is one of them....
"Please Ravok, train me and allow me to join your forces." Brian pleaded softly, bowing down before Ravok. "I wish to tear apart the monstrous bastards that tortured me. I am getting up there in age, but I wish to have one more adventure, and if you teach me and help me seek Lyrane's blessing, I know I could be worthwhile to you and your army."
"Stand up lad, don't bow to me!" Ravok said sharply, his smile fading. "The only one worthy of thee worship is Lyrane, and his brethren!"
"Of course, I apologize." Brian said as he stood up meekly. "Please, will you help me?"
Ravok gave Brian a kind smile but shook his head.
"I'm sorry lad, but I cannot."
"But why?" Brian asked in a dejected tone.
"Forgive me bluntness, but training ye would be a waste. Ye showed great skill with the enhanced armory, but that is all ye currently have. Tis true I could strengthen ye, but without the blessing of Lyrane, it wouldn't be enough."
"Is that it?" Brian replied with slight annoyance. "You don't think Lyrane will bless me?"
"Nay lad." Ravok answered solemnly. "Lyrane would smite ye on thee spot."
"He would? Why?"
Ravok pointed to Brian's chest and gave him a woeful look.
"Ye heart. Tis full of rage and self-fulfillment when it comes to ye desire to fight. Lyrane would never approve."
Riley’s Luck
Waking sucks. Riley would have preferred to keep sleeping forever, but his better mind cared little for his foolish desires, doing instead what it knows it must. Sensing uncomfortable situations that the light of day might expose his lids flutter themselves open, fanning Riley’s currently diminished spark of life with light. There are several good reasons for not waking, to include a pre-dawn, bone penetrating chill which works in tandem with the rhythmic pounding like waves of blood through his head, and the infantile demands of a handful of needy gulls whose cries are a reminder to Riley of his own currently empty stomach. Adding to this little list, as if there need be more, is the slippery grit of sand beneath him; cold, wet, uncomfortable sand that has worked it's way into his clothing and hair (among other cracks and crevices), and the sombering gray of an as yet sunless sky above. It is not even fucking daylight yet. Still, these pitiful reasons to continue sleeping pale beside the biggest and greatest reason for waking... that uncomfortable situation that the light of day might expose. Daylight is here!
From afar, even above the pounding waves, Riley hears the sound of happy laughter, of children excited for a day at the beach, children still too young to be ashamed of their being. The world is waking and so must he… wake the fuck up, asshole! There is a zipping of lights when he re-closes his lids, and a dripping of colors not unlike the paper-hit trails of his younger and wilder days that make the darkness uncomfortable. He wished that those things and his overall sourness would just stop trying to pull him away from the much desired seductress that is Sleep. But Sleep is vanished, just like everyone else. She has abandoned him. She has left him, and he must wake. “Fuuuuck…” groaning with the effort Riley rolls to his elbows for a look around.
The boy is nowhere in site, the child who had only yesterday set him on this demented quest. Riley is not sure of how to feel about that. The sea seems to have spitted Riley out in the exact same spot where he’d come upon the boy yesterday, although as far as he could see northward up the beach everything looked exactly the same, and southward too, so he could be wrong. Mirror trick-like, the wooden fishing piers disappearing in the gloomy distance are too similar to distinguish from one another on the one side of the white sand, while on the other side the same tourist taffy shops provided backgrounds for the same swim-suited joggers alongside the same trotting dogs with the same glistening lifeguards prying the same fucking, happy-assed umbrellas into the pale flesh of the same foot dimpled fucking beach. A gasp escaped him at the thought of the boy, a gasp that spilt a warm wash of seawater from his throat. Perhaps it had all been a dream? A nightmare? But another cough of seawater was enough to answer. It had been no dream. Riley reached for his back pocket. The bottle was gone, leaving him with absolutely nothing other than his sobering reflections on yesterday.
What miserable fucking luck Riley had, to wander under this particular pier, at this particular time. While some have the good fortune to discover treasure at the beach, and others love, poor Riley had only stumbled upon a boy. And not just any boy. This boy had been propped upright against a barnacled pillar when Riley chanced upon him. The first disconcerting thing Riley had noticed about the boy was his lack of arms, but as Riley drew closer it was with horror that he realized that what he’d hoped was an unfortunate illusion of liquor, shadow and sand was not, as it became evident to him that the boy had no legs either. Yet even without arms or legs the child’s eyes still blazed out from the cool, briny darkness of the pier’s underbelly with all of the passions of life. A look around revealed to Riley that no one else was nearby. Where had the boy’s caregivers gone? How had the youngster come to be in this hidden spot, and alone? The lad certainly hadn’t come here on his own? While contemplating these things Riley slipped the bottle from his back pocket and took from it a long, habitually thoughtful pull.
”Say kid, are you ok?” Even as he said it Riley realized the ridiculousness of the question. The boy had no arms or legs, how could he be ok? But then an even further horror was revealed when the boy attempted an answer, as to Riley’s absolute dismay a steady stream of gurgles and moans forced an awareness upon him that the boy had no tongue, either. No fingers to grab, no hands to clap, no arms to wave, feet to balance upon, nor legs for walking… and no tongue to complain about any of it, either?
Of all the fucking shit luck!
Riley’s first impulse was to run far and fast, as from a monster. He wanted away. What infernal luck had brought him here, he wondered? To this dreadful scene? Why him to stumble upon something so horrid? And what was he to do now, once here? Could he just walk away from something so pitiful, from someone so needful of help? But if he stayed, what then? He could not know what the boy wanted, or needed? He never could know, could he? Nor what the child was even thinking? Not ever, as the poor son-of-a-bitch could never tell it. A panic began inside Riley, subtly at first, a cold stomach knot which slowly as freezing water hardened across his gut. He looked around again, venturing out from under the pier as he did so, a little at a time. There must be someone nearby, so Riley called out. “Hey! Hello? Is anyone here?” And then louder. “There is a boy here… whose boy is this?”
A very few sun-glassed eyes turned his way, but those few only briefly, as the sun-reddened tourists were here for holiday, not drama. No one answered Riley’s hails, nor ventured forth to share in his dilemma.
And from the darkness below the pier shone a pair of eyes as blue as any ocean, their light a beacon to Riley; beseeching eyes, eyes abandoned by all the rest of the world. Riley found himself pulled back to the eyes by some unknown charity within him that he didn’t even know was there, that he wished was not.
Riley understood loneliness to some extent. The love of his life had recently chosen her boss over him, taking their son with her, and their home, and such a sizable chunk of Riley’s journalism salary that it hardly seemed worth showing up to work anymore, though surely he would be be sought out by the court system if he didn’t. Riley was really little more than a worker bee at this point, no longer working for himself, but instead slaving away for a queen bee who had betrayed him, for a son whom that woman was slowly turning against him, and for a man who was fucking that woman under Riley’s own roof while Riley made do on a fold-away YMCA cot.
Still, that he would be alright Riley knew with a certainty. He was drinking a little much, yea, but these changes were all so shocking and new, and so out of his control, weren't they? Riley slipped the bottle from his pocket once more and choked down another drag of liquid fire that neither helped his situation, nor made him feel any better.
Yes, Riley understood loneliness to some extent, but this boy… his was an altogether different sort of loneliness, was it not? His was a loneliness that Riley could not begin to fathom, a loneliness that would necessitate insanity. Surely there was nothing reasonable left behind those blazing eyes, that is if there had ever been anything reasonable behind them to begin with. There could be nothing, could there? Fuck! Heaven help the little fucker if there was even a trace of it. The only situation Riley could imagine being worse than stumbling upon this kid would be in being this kid. Of all the fucking luck.
The waves were creeping up now, lapping forth strands of sea-weeded yack towards the boy like frothy tongues. The last thing in the world Riley wanted to do was to touch the kid, but he had to, didn’t he? Should he not at least move him a few feet further away from the encroaching water? With his courage gathered, Riley‘s hands gripped either side of the lad’s torso, finding it surprisingly light, if somewhat top-heavy. Riley held it out at arm’s length, as one would a wild, captured animal, or a poisonous snake, but as the boy's eyes came up level with his own Riley could not help but see the panic within them.
"No worries, son. I'm just gonna move you further up the beach, away from the water."
But the panic in the eyes grew at Riley's words rather than dissipating, enlightening Riley to everything. Jesus fucking Christ, Riley thought to himself. The poor bastard wants to be here! The knowledge of it angered Riley. What the hell? Some son-of-a-bitch had carried this boy here and left him for the sea? Not even the plea in those blazing eyes could squelch the disgust Riley felt. What the fucking hell? It was not something Riley could ever do. And how could anyone have done so? If the boy had nothing else, he at least had that light in his eyes! And if the little shit wanted to kill himself he would have to do it on his own, as Riley wanted no fucking part of it!
But Riley was part of it, wasn’t he? And the kid couldn’t possibly do it on his fucking own, could he? Riley had not signed up for this shit, but he was the one who was here. And fuck the fucking luck that had brought him here, too! All he’d wanted was a walk on the fucking beach! Was that too much to ask for? Isn’t that what the beach is supposed to be for? A place to find a little bit of peace in this fucked up world? A place to sink your feet in the cool sand and forget it all? A place to stand and watch a brilliant, blazing gulf sunset and to just exist? Was it too much for Riley to have something nice for himself? A bit of fucking peace? Fuck all the fucking fuck!
With the boy still at arm’s length Riley began to cry. It was no little cry either, but was a great, sobbing cry which drew an expression of pity from the blazing eyes, a pity that made it apparent to Riley that there was indeed a bit sanity in there behind them. The boy felt. If nothing else, the boy felt, and knowing that he did was just about more than Riley could bear. This child with no appendages was feeling sorry for him?
And God damn it all to hell if Riley was the man to leave a boy to the sea. He just couldn’t, could he? But the boy was growing heavy, and when Riley finally placed him back in his spot it was in a puddle now. The sea was coming up! Dear Lord, what to do? Riley was crying again, but not for his own stupid luck this time. And the eyes were still pleading, and the sea was still rising, and the sun was now setting, and God was fucking smiling, so not knowing what else to do Riley sat himself down in the cold puddle beside the boy and took the child up. He pulled the stumps over into his lap before wrapping them up in his arms to wait. His arms pulled tightly around the boy’s torso breathed along with the body's lungs, and throbbed along with it’s pulsings, and languished with it’s sighs.
Curiously, Riley’s tears ceased. Oddly, he felt no need to reach for the bottle in his pocket. As the tide rose it was not water, but a strange contentment that flooded Riley over. And it was only then that Riley found the peace he had come to the beach in search of.
No, Riley had not been the man to leave a boy to the sea, had he? No… Riley had fucking stayed the fucking course, right alongside the fucking lad.
And thanks be to Heaven for that bit of luck.
Mer
I hear a man whistle behind me, setting my eye roll into motion. This is not what I had intended to do today. My plans involved sitting on a rock while the waves crashed behind me, inhaling the soft salt air so my voice could fill its space. But still, I would never pass up an opportunity like this.
I turn around, my long hair following behind me as it floats on the white sea foam, and I see the ship. The scene is extremely predictable. A group of men with long, straggly hair and untrimmed beards are dancing around to some song about the sea. It’s ironic; these old folk songs are pretty much always warning them about the dangers in the ocean, yet they choose to ignore these messages.
“Come on, girl! Give us a smile!” one of them says. I wait a second to let their excitement build before showing them my pearly-white teeth and giving them a little wave. This never fails to fill me with satisfaction, as all of the men on board are either missing teeth or missing limbs.
They applaud me and begin to call me closer. I see them clapping each other on the back and making loud, incompetent comments about my physical beauty. While this was exactly the goal, I can’t help but wonder if anything goes through their heads at all. The comments they make are sexual in nature, but even the most surface-level knowledge of marine biology combined with half a second of critical thinking would make them realize how impossible that is.
I start to do long dolphin dives towards them, the moonlight making the water on my skin glisten, while my tail glistens all on its own. As I approach the boat, the calming aroma of salt becomes mildew and rotting wood. They have a topless member of my species carved out of stone perched to the front of their boat, a reminder of why this plan works every time.
They scurry to the edge of the boat, where a fishing net hangs above them to fill me with a quiet rage. I wave at them again, this time to ask them to join me in the water. There is a hesitation, but their ignorant smiles are far more powerful, so I’m not worried about my success.
I begin to sing; the men are helpless. My voice puts them in a trance and the smell of body odor and booze gets closer and closer. They stare longingly at my figure, probably wishing I resembled the carving on the boat just a little more. They are so distracted that they don’t notice my once perfect teeth growing longer and sharper, with my fingernails following their lead. I give them the privilege of hearing my perfect laugh as their last sound of life.
Hell Gone Corporate
Sure, the book happened to be in my seat. I found the book, but I didn't find it. It was placed on the plane meticulously. It was part of my fate. As the book explains, we all have a fate. Mine is to visit the realm of the living to see what kind of horror humans are making on their own. I then take that information to Hell's main office, so they can make ‘improvements’ to the punishments and general awfulness of the place. Hell still finds a way to be less bad than living for me. No wars or discrimination, everyone is treated like shit. Even the billboards they added recently aren't as unhinged as some on the sides of freeways or toll roads. It's incredible humans aren't the Demons, and Earth isn't Hell. Sorry, I didn't mention what the book is called, did I? It's a leatherbound copy of On a Pale Horse. Thing is, what I see in Hell isn't what anyone else sees. Everyone sees what has been determined to be the correct level of bad for them. I have to continue returning to Earth because it's my own personal hell. That's also why Hell looks very corporate to me. Its appearance has changed over my existence here. I've been part of Hell so long, it once looked like polluted Victorian England during the height of the industrial revolution. It has evolved to match whatever the most heinous human setting is at current ever since. I don't remember my human life anymore, yet it haunts me. Next time I get on the plane, I won't touch the book. Funny how the others in Hell think anything can scar me more than They Live. Especially now that I know you could switch aliens for Demons and the premise wouldn't be too far off. The flaw being that a mistake such as allowing humans to get their hands on the special glasses would never happen. Or would it? I don’t know how much of a difference it would make anyway. If anything the Demons in disguise are more sane than the actual people anyway.
Project Verity. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Olban sat beside Brian Wilks and gave him a shake.
Brian screamed, sat bolt upright, looked around in a panic and collapsed into wracking sobs.
Olban swept him into a hug. “It’s alright, you’re safe. They won’t hurt you again.” He sighed. “Look, you’re practically a second father to me. I grew up with you, just as Gareth grew up with my family and Mr Wilks is just so… so stiff and formal. Is it OK if I just call you Brian?”
It took a while for the sobs to die down. The hug seemed to be helping, he relaxed into it and hugged Olban back, then looked him in the eye. “Thanks. Yeah, Brian’s fine with me.”
“Are you OK to continue, now?”
Brian nodded and Olban helped him to his feet.
As they started to walk, his eyes widened as he looked around, probably taking in the scenery for the first time. The mountains to the west, the plains to the south… “Where are we, anyway?”
“About five miles from Little Dafford.” Olban pointed east. “That way,” he pointed North, “about ten miles beyond that copse of trees, another village, Dunbeck. We trade with them quite a lot. Best trout you’ve ever tasted, from there.”
“But I’ve never heard of those places. It looks like Britain, but…”
“Trust me, this isn’t Britain. We’re in the nation of Eltinom. Those mountains, the Troll nation of… Well… I’ve never been very good with their language, I can’t pronounce it.”
“Trolls? Really?”
“And no, before you start going on about monsters, they’re a pleasant enough people. We’ve traded with them in the past, too. They’re the best stone masons and sculptors in the five kingdoms.”
“Thought that was dwarves.”
“I suggest you put aside all the Tolkien crap. Seriously. He might’ve been trying to keep old folklore alive in your world, but here, some of that stuff could get you killed, if you believed it.”
“What like?!”
“Well, for one, as I said, Trolls, pleasant, if a little brutish in appearance. Elves, faeries… Best avoided if at all possible. That’s why, hundred miles south of here’s further than most of us are willing to go. I only just got back from there yesterday, might not’ve made it were it not for my master.”
They’d been walking for about ten minutes when Olban’s eyes widened and his arm shot out to stop Brian in his tracks.
He turned to the south.
“What did you do that for?”
“Look.” Olban pointed at the ground. At the toadstool.
“What about it? It’s just”
“It’s not alone. Look closer.”
The toadstool was one of many, all forming a line which curved away from them in both directions.
“But we know what makes them do that, the fungus in the ground just grows out in all directions and sends up fruiting bodies at the ends of”
“Yes, that’s how they form, but”
“You’re not seriously saying fairy rings”
“Are incredibly dangerous, yes. It is how they can travel between their realm and ours and if you stumble into one, woe betide you. You might never see home again.”
“Oh, shit! What about Sarah? She’ll think I’m dead! She might’ve even found another bloke by now! My life’s ruined even if I do make it back!”
“Don’t panic. It’s fine.”
“What do you mean, fine, she”
“She only realised you were missing yesterday.”
“But I’ve been gone”
“Two days, maybe three or four at the most.”
“But that’s impossible!”
“It’s not, y’know. Your life’s intact, there, don’t worry. I suppose there might be some things to fix. It depends what your doppelganger did while he was posing as you.”
“Doppelganger? You don’t mean those… Those things were in my home?”
Olban nodded. “I’m afraid so. But he wasn’t there for long and we dealt with him, don’t worry. He’s dead.”
“You… You killed me?”
“No… I suppose it’ll ease your mind so… This is what’s been happening.”
Olban began to explain, starting with their encounter with the wolf.
They’d left the fairy ring behind but only travelled another hundred yards before there was a clap of thunder and gust of wind. It came from the circle. Olban span in shock and stared at the woman lying unconscious in the centre of it.
“Oh, hell!”
Brian turned, took in the scene and bolted towards her.
“Brian! Stop!”
But Brian ignored him. He was just about to cross the threshold, into the circle, when Olban rolled up his sleeve in a panic, closed his eyes, and Brian shot into the air.
He let out a yelp as he slowly drifted back towards Olban.
“I thought I told you those things were dangerous. You can not cross into a fairy ring!”
“Put me down! How are you even doing this!? She needs help!”
Olban sighed, lowered Brian back to the ground before him and gripped his arm before he could make another move. “Look more closely.”
She was beautiful, that much was certain. She wore the finest silks, a gold circlet on her brow but on her back, large filigree wings, similar to those of a dragonfly.
“She’s a bit big for a fairy, isn’t she?”
“They’re not like Tinkerbell, y’know. What they are is flighty, chaotic, quick to anger, quick to… well, anything. They could be incredibly generous one moment or sadistic to the point of insanity the next. You’ve got to be careful around them. Very careful.”
“But surely, if we don’t help, won’t… Won’t they…”
“Take their revenge? Probably, yes. Brian, take off your outer tunic. I’ll take off my hose.”
“But”
“I have no intention of going into the circle, but… Just watch.”
“Why do you want me to undress?”
“Everything has a touch of magic to it in this world, including our clothing.”
“Clothes? That’s how you levitated me?”
Olban rolled up his sleeve and pointed at the armband. “It’s come in useful a couple of times both here and in your world. Now, tunic, off. It has health and healing woven into it. Watch.”
Olban took out his dagger, sliced the palm of his hand and held it up. Immediately, the wound closed, not even leaving a scar. “We don’t suffer from diseases, here. Most injuries are healed just as quickly as that. A broken bone’s fixed in less than a day, normally.”
He sat, kicked off his boots and untied the straps that held his hose up, before slipping them off and putting his boots back on. “Tunic off, Brian. She does need help. Just hope she’s grateful.”
“But how do you get to her if you can’t go into the circle?”
“What’s that saying? If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, or something?”
Brian nodded.
“Well, this mountain will.” He pointed and the woman rose gently into the air and drifted towards them.
As she drifted closer, a trail appeared behind her. Flowers sprang up in her wake, and as she got closer still, it became apparent why. Blood soaked the underside of her garments and as it dripped to the ground, wherever it landed, a new flower emerged.
“Oh, bloody hell!” Brian undid his belt and pulled his tunic off. He staggered and sat in shock, looking around in confusion, then sprang to his feet again. “I… I thought you said that thing healed, I feel better without it I feel like a new man it’s amazing I’ve not felt so energetic since I was a kid I feel like”
“Brian, please! Magic can take it’s toll if it’s doing a lot, it was draining you to heal you. I’ve got no idea what injuries they inflicted on you, but you said yourself, disembowled, broken bones, what else? Just help me put these on.”
Brian nodded and rushed over with the tunic.
They were on in less than a minute and even before they’d lain her down again and knelt by her side, the wound on her forehead was gone, and a lot of the others were closing.
A minute later, her eyelids fluttered and she sat up, propped on her elbows. She looked around and sighed. “Mortals! Why did it have to be mortals?”
Olban bowed his head. “Your eminence. We were just passing the ring when you appeared, and lucky we did. Very few pass this way.”
“But mortals, in the fields of Erdoin? Who granted you passage?”
“We’re not in Erdoin, your eminence. We’re about five miles from the human village of Little Dafford.”
“I…” Her eyes narrowed. “How dare you conceal yourself in my presence? Show yourselves!”
“I’m sorry, your eminence, I… I don’t… I’m right here.”
Oh, shit. You don’t think she was talking to me, do you?
“Of course I was talking to you. Reveal yourselves! Now!”
It’s my turn to say I don’t understand, your eminence.
She rolled her eyes, said “Out! Now!” and clicked her fingers.
Several things happened at once. Olban gripped his head and collapsed to the grass, but as he did so, Gareth and Eloise appeared by his side.
At the sight of them, Brian let out a yelp of “Gareth!” and sprang forward to give him a hug, but passed through him, tripped over Olban and collapsed to the ground.
“Ow! What’s happening?” Gareth looked down at himself. He held his hand up. “Why can I see through my hand? Why did he”
“You have no physical presence, child. Now, explain. Where is it?”
“My body? Back home, your eminence.”
“And where is this home?”
“Another world, your eminence. The same world he’s from.” Gareth pointed at his dad.
“World travellers? Mortal world travellers? Would you care to explain how?”
Gareth sank to his knees before her. “We didn’t understand until a few days ago ourselves. We met someone in the between after crossing the dreaming. A wolf. He explained.”
“One of the guides? And he spoke to you?”
“A couple of times, now, your eminence. It seems we were both born at the exact same instant in time at exactly the same physical location, but in different worlds.”
“A nexus! Do you have any idea how rare, how special that is? And her?”
“Nexus? That’s what you call us?”
“Yes. It happens to all races on occasion. For us, it’s much more profound, much more… venerated. She doesn’t fit, she’s different, why?”
“The wolf. Olban…” Gareth turned to look at his… brother… “Oh, shit, is he OK?”
“It seems I not only owe you my gratitude, but an apology. He’ll be fine. The shock of your sudden… exit from his mind. Now…” She pointed at Eloise again.
Gareth nodded. “The wolf was guarding her. She was… Well… Vacant is the best way I can put it when we first saw her. He asked us to take her. Allow her to be a passenger, because he knew what we had planned.”
“And your plans?”
“Separate ourselves. We’re always apart when we cross the dream, so Olban had just completed the manufacture of a couple of magical trinkets that would allow both of us to manifest physically in my world, but she was a nexus, too. She was even more special, a nexus of six, not just two, like us.”
“Six!?”
Gareth nodded. “Please put us back. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as a ghost.”
“In that form, you’d remain that way for the rest of eternity. Doesn’t that appeal? Immortality?”
“Never to eat? To touch anything? Helpless? Powerless?”
“A lot of fun can be had by a disembodied spirit, but very well. You will be restored.”
“Can I ask you, your eminence? What happened? You suffered terrible injuries.” Gareth nodded at the trail of flowers from the centre of the circle.
“It appeared out of nowhere, attacked us. No matter what we hit it with, it changed its form to counter it. It began as a human, but when we attacked it with arrows, it turned to stone. We threw boulders at it in an attempt to crush it, but it turned to mist and they passed right through. We threw cold at it and it turned to ice, but continued to attack us. Nothing we had worked. I barely escaped with my life!”
Olban grunted, forced himself to his feet and knelt before her, this time gripping his head. “Please. I’ll tell you our tale. We’ve encountered them before, these shapeshifters. We may be able to aid you, too, because we’ve defeated more than one, but… It hurts!”
“Oh, very well.” Another click of the fingers and Gareth and Eloise vanished.
Olban sank to the grass in relief and the pain vanished with them.
Home sweet home. Echoed in Olban’s mind.
“Tell me.”
Olban nodded, returning to his kneeling position beside her. “It all started about a week ago in his world.” He pointed at Brian.
* * *
“And that’s why we were passing your circle when you appeared, your eminence.”
She nodded. “And you believe the enchantments within your armband are the key to defeating these… things?”
“It’s worked against them so far, but they have been growing, learning. Each one we encountered was better, more cunning, more convincing.”
“Show it to me.”
Olban rolled up his sleeve and held it before her.
A brush of her hand was enough to cause the designs to glow. She studied the intricacies, traced them with her finger. “This part. This barrier?”
“We realised after we’d encountered the first one that they could read our minds, so I incorporated that to prevent it. That might be why it could anticipate all your attacks. It knew what you were going to do before you did it.”
“Ingenious. And this?”
“Bands of light. They bind the creature. Prevent it from transforming.”
“Yes. I see how it works. I must go. With this information, we may even defeat it, but before I do.” She touched Olban on the forehead. “A gift to each of you. To Gareth and Eloise, the spirit form you experienced, you may use.” She noted the alarm cross Olban’s face and giggled. “Worry not, a part of them will remain when they take spirit form. An anchor, if you will. It won’t hurt. But I warn you, now. The gift of the fae may be a double-edged sword. Remain out for too long and the anchor will wither and die. If that happens, you’ll remain insubstantial, a ghost, forever.”
Gareth would’ve gulped if he’d had a throat to gulp with, right then. How long is too long?
“Within the cycle of night and day, a quarter of that. As you approach the limit, you will begin to feel it, you’ll know to return.”
Olban stared at her in shock. “What about when we choose to separate completely, your eminence?”
“It’s only when in spirit form. You, too, will benefit from that when Gareth awakens in his world. I also grant you knowledge. It’ll come to you in flashes over the coming days.” She turned to Brian. “Father of Gareth. Kneel before me.”
Brian glanced from side to side as if trapped.
“Do as she says, Brian. Please.”
He nodded and knelt.
She placed her palm on his head but snatched it away as if it burned. “Such pain. Such torment. I almost admire them, the creativity of it. Even we don’t make transgressors suffer that much. To you, I grant forgetfulness.”
“But I don’t want to forget everything!”
“I only take the memory of your pain, you’ll still remember what happened to you. Without the pain, you can begin your healing.”
Another touch on the forehead and Brian fell back into the grass with a sigh.
“Thank you!”
She undid the belt, pulled off the hose, shrugged off the tunic and shot into the air, her wings making a low hum. “Do not attempt to call on me.” She shot off to the south, but her voice carried on the wind. “But I may call on you!”
Olban watched her depart as he sat and started pulling on his hose. “Tunic back on, Brian. We’ve got to go.”
Brian sighed, put it on, fastened the belt and sank to the ground in shock as a wave of exhaustion struck. “I… But I felt fine! I was healed. There was…”
Olban regarded his second father with concern. “Still feeling drained with it on?”
“Yes! It’s even worse, now that I’ve felt what it’s like not wearing it!”
“I want you to be honest with me. Gareth’s mature enough to handle it, if you had any bad news you’ve been holding back.”
What are you saying, Olban?
“I don’t understand, what do you mean?”
“Was there anything wrong with you before you were taken? I told you, we don’t suffer any diseases here, the magic takes care of it before anything bad can happen. In your world, things can get pretty bad, pretty quick, and if something’s advanced enough to be life-threatening…”
Brian sighed. “Alright. Can Gareth pop out, like he did earlier. I’d prefer to say this in person.”
Oh, shit, it is isn’t it. What is it? Cancer? I’m not sure how. Maybe if I just…
Gareth concentrated and the next thing he knew, he was staring his father in the face. He looked down at himself, at his semitransparent form. “Well, that was easier than I was expecting. What is it, Dad?”
Brian nodded. “It’s… Don’t tell your mother! Understood? I don’t want her worrying, you know how she’ll react.”
“Dad! What the hell is it?!”
“It’s cancer. One of the bad ones, but they said it’s also a slow one. They can’t do anything, now, it’s gone too far. Your mother doesn’t even know I’ve been on insulin for the past few months.”
“Oh, God! Dad? How long?”
“6 Months, maybe a year if I’m unlucky.”
“Unlucky!?”
“They said the end wouldn’t be pleasant, Gareth!”
Olban chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry, Gareth. Brian, just put up with the exhaustion for a day, you’ll be fine. The magic’s doing its thing. You’ll be cancer free in no time.”
“But it metastasised! That’s why they said they couldn’t help me!”
“That’s probably why the enchantments are taking so long. They’ve got a lot of work to do! Trust me, you’ll be fine. They’ll see you as a medical miracle when you do get back. You’re in this world for a while, you might as well take advantage of it while you are.”
Gareth grinned at Olban. “You don’t think…”
“Think what?”
“Our little heart-to-heart? He was hurting Dad to get at me, remember? But when you gave him those little home truths he needed, along with how to lose the pain… Maybe he knew, he must have, they can read minds, after all. Maybe that’s why he sent Dad here rather than home? So he could be cured!”
“I hadn’t even considered that, but that’s a bloody good point.” Olban crouched and helped Brian to his feet. “I’ll help, but we’ve got to go! It’s more urgent now than ever!”
“What is?”
“If those things can attack faerie, they could be coming out anywhere, any world. We need to speak to the Thane as well as Master Stell. We need to mobilise! Get word to the eorls, to the king himself. This could get nasty!”
“Thane?”
“The leader of our village.”
“Not chieftain, then?”
“We are a part of a kingdom, Brian. Before you ask, I suppose the Earth equivalent of eorl would be earl. They hold the real power in the shires. Only the king and the gods themselves have more.”
* * *
“How… How much… further?”
Olban turned to see sweat pouring down Brian’s face. His knees wobbled, he gasped for breath and he was white as a sheet.
“Do you think you can make it to the top of this hill?”
“Why… not… not rest here?”
“Trust me…” Olban sighed as Brian’s legs gave out and he sank to his arse, tears streaming down his face. “I… I can’t.”
“OK, OK. Here.” Olban pulled Brian up by the armpits, lifted him back to his feet, grabbed him and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. “I’ll carry you the last few yards. We can rest at the top, there’s something I want you to see.”
Olban marched up the hill, placed Brian back on the grass and stared him in the eye.
“Now, you just walked nearly five miles with the drain of the tunic slowing you down. Do you think you could’ve done that before you were taken without stopping to rest?”
“Twenty years ago, maybe.” Brian smiled. “But… I would’ve been stopping every fifty yards. Why couldn’t we rest down at the bottom of the hill, though?”
“I wanted you to see,” Olban placed his hands on Brian’s shoulders and turned him, “that. Welcome home, for the time being, at least.”
Nestled at the bottom of the valley, a ribbon of silver snaked its way down the middle of it, where it passed under a tall wooden wall and ran between the twenty large roundhouses of the village. There were a lot of smaller ones and at the village’s centre, one about four times the size of the others. At the far end of the valley, spanning the river was a large stone structure which, when viewed from above, had the appearance of a tree. A thin trunk, longer than the branches led to a gate in the village wall and at its end, seven branches radiated out.
“That’s where you live?”
“Third roundhouse from the left, The smaller ones next to it are my workshop and that of my Brother, Mavon. I know, I know, no mod cons, no home comforts, no TV, radio, internet.”
Brian chuckled. “I don’t care about them! I get to live in a genuine Iron Age village! I get to experience what life was like in Britain three thousand years ago! I mean, good God, man, I… Take your time, Olban. As much time as you like. No preferential treatment for me. You have seven rings to make, make mine last.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I want to live as you live. I want to experience it! I used to obsess about ancient Britain when I was a boy. My bedroom was covered in posters about things like… Well… That!”
“You’ll be our guest, Brian! We won’t put you to work! Besides, what could you do down there? All the skills we rely on, your people lost millennia ago! OK, a few, like smithing, you may have refined, but, you’re no smith, are you? Do you have anything to offer?”
Brian shrugged. “Tell me what some of your trades are, maybe I could have one of you teach me a thing or two?”
“You’re a bit old to take on an apprenticeship, y’know.”
“How about warrior? You mentioned mobilisation. How about teaching me to fight? Once I’ve got my energy back I know I can handle it, now.”
Fight? Gareth yelped. What the… hang on. He concentrated and appeared again. “What the hell do you mean, teach you to fight? You”
“I need to rip those things from bollocks to chin, Gareth. I need to cave in their fucking skulls and take an egg whisk to their brains! I ne”
“Dad! Please!”
“Gareth! Shut it! I know what I’m doing! Besides, here, I’m protected. You saw what he did to his… Well, you felt what he did to his hand. You saw what this tunic did to that fairy. If I tried fighting them back home, I’d be killed in no time, but here? I need this, Gareth. I need this more than… Just stay out of it! Olban, I want you to take me to your warriors, have them train me. I don’t care if it takes weeks! Months even!”
“Dad, what about Mum?”
“You’ll just have to make up an excuse, won’t you? Tell her it’ll take time to gather the materials. Tell her the magic’s too complicated to rush, that I’ll be back when I get back. It’s not like I’ve got a job to go to, there and I’m bored shitless in that house! I hate retirement! Now I get one final adventure before I peg it!”
“Dad, you can’t!”
“I’m rustling the newspaper, Gareth.”
“Dad, listen to me!”
“Rustle, rustle!” Brian turned his back on Gareth and regarded the village again.
“Gah!” Gareth vanished. He’s impossible! I hate that fucking newspaper.
Why’s a newspaper so important?
It was always his signal, Eloise. End of conversation.
Brian pointed at the stone structure. “Why does that one look so different?”
“That’s our Llan.” Olban glanced at Brian with amusement. “I suppose the closest you’d get in English would be temple. Stone is eternal, the gods are eternal. Each of those arms represents one of them. Seven in total.”
“More than one… Of course there’s more than one… Even ours had more than one until Christianity came along… So nothing like that happened here?”
“No point. We know the gods exist. Just as we know magic exists.”
“You… you don’t think… They’re not… well… the gods everywhere, are they? Please, tell me Christianity got it all wrong. I’d love to see the look on their faces.”
“No, Brian. There’s no evidence our gods ever touched your world. Seems that’s one thing you should be grateful for. Some of those competing religions would’ve been fucked if the gods really existed. They don’t take kindly to fakery, they see it as disrespectful. Probably end up cursed or…” Olban shuddered. “I’d rather not talk about it. Have you recovered enough to walk, now?”
Brian nodded.
“I’ll hand you over to Coban. He can tell you anything you need to know. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
“Coban?”
“Little brother, he’s likely to have less to do than Mavon. Mavon’s got kids and pottery to turn.”
The Unfinished Story
“Weird,” I stared at my hands, then back at the newly formed path. “Did I just… make that?”
No one answered. Nothing existed except me and the path and the void, if it could be called a void. It reminded me more of a blank page in a book. I started walking along the path, closing my eyes the further out I went. The white space started to hurt my brain. It was too empty, too full of nothing.
Too lonely.
A twig snapped under my feet on the path. My eyes flew open to find a beautiful forest and leaves falling around me. Sunlight trickled down through the autumn-colored canopy, the swirl of oranges, reds, and yellows almost glowing as they landed on the roof of a stone cottage. Despite not being made of wood, it seemed to grow out of the herculean redwood behind it. Smoke drifted from the chimney, disappearing as quickly as it came. Smooth tiles slanted down in a perfect roof, and the windows glinted in the available light. The most vibrant part of the cottage, however, was the dark burgundy door and the fox sitting in front of it.
I took a slight step back only to find the path gone. My bare feet hit leaf litter, and where it should’ve felt irritating or lifeless, like the grainy sand of the beach, it felt… comforting. For whatever reason, my mind created this place. The fox cocked its head at me as if asking why I was just standing there. If I could do anything, why was I afraid? Still, I couldn’t convince myself to move.
The fox, sensing my nervousness, approached me. It moved like a ghost, its footsteps whispering as it walked. It gently nudged my hand with its nose, another touch of warmth in an already warm world. Carefully, cautiously, I brushed my fingers through its soft, orange fur. It should’ve been rough, spiky, wild just like the fox was, yet like the leaves, it felt like home. I followed it this time, going up the steps and opening the door to the cottage.
If the outside was a fantasy, inside was a dream. Tree branches spiraled high above on the ceiling, rooting the cottage to the land. A small iron stove and oven found their places on the wall next to shelves of grain, spices, herbs, tea. A wooden table and two chairs were right in the middle, inviting anyone to sit down and relax. At the other end, thick tree branches that had curled around the ceiling now hugged the walls, holding an array of books, thick and thin, old and new. Just below the natural bookshelves lay a bed, soft and cozy and just as inviting as the table.
I quietly closed the door behind me and approached the bed, suddenly feeling light-headed and exhausted. The autumn-colored quilt was even softer than it looked, and I climbed in, savoring the warmth, the safety. The fox stood to the side, watching me for a moment before leaving out of a smaller door near the chimney area, back outside. Alone once again, I decided to sleep. I did not dream.
I woke up the next day to the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee. Stretching, I walked over to the table to find the fox standing there again, watching me as I sat down. A mug of warm coffee cooled on the side, and next to it, fresh coffee beans. The plate in front of me had two slices of whole wheat sourdough, baked and buttered to perfection. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate anything. Picking up a slice, I bit into it, closing my eyes as the flavors took over. It was such a simple combination, and yet simple things are often the most comforting.
Who taught me that?
I stopped chewing. A million questions ran through my head, blocking everything else. How long had I been wandering in the void before I created this? Had there been anything before the beach, before the blank canvas that was now my reality? How did I know this would be the perfect meal for me? Why couldn’t I remember anyone’s face from my past? Did I even have a past?
The fox was staring again when I glanced up at it.
“Why did I make you?” I asked, hoping that I could get some sort of sign, an answer in a sea of questions. It tilted its head to the side, unable to say anything.
“If this is my reality, why won’t you talk?” I put my slice down. “Everything has been exactly as I imagined except for you. You aren’t supposed to be here.”
Still, it did not answer. I took a step toward it, and as I did, the fox finally broke its stance. Suddenly nervous, it hopped onto the table, tipping over the coffee beans -in the process. Something in my expression must have scared it even more because, after a final glance up at me, the fox ran out its door again, leaving me alone with a mess to clean up.
Sighing, I got to my knees and started to pick up the grounds, the smell of coffee wafting around me. Stains spread on my hands and got under my nails. A few of the beans got stuck between the floorboards. I dug my fingers in, trying to get one out when the floorboard moved. The bean dropped down and I heard a hollow sound as if there was a compartment below. Curious, I tugged at the floorboard until it gave way, the nails ripping out and the wood splintering. There was a compartment, and the bean had landed right on top of a book. I reached down and took it in my hands. After blowing the dust off the cover, I read the title:
The Girl and the Vixen.
The picture below was of me and… a red-haired girl. Not just any girl; one I knew. One whose curls I’d brushed, one whose freckles I’d counted like stars, one whose eyes – green eyes – I’d stare into for hours. I knew her name, had it on the tip of my tongue, had it in the deep crevices of my mind full of memories that I hadn’t been able to conjure since I got here. Why couldn’t I remember her name? I knew everything else, even Vesper’s love of coffee –
Vesper.
I flipped through the pages, desperate for more, craving my story, the memories I lost. Every word brought up another piece, and as I kept reading, the whole picture built itself in my mind.
I found her in a gallery, surrounded by portraits and sculptures and paintings, staring at a larger-than-life ocean. Every brushstroke and every color culminated in the illustration of a turbulent and angry sea, witnessed only by the moon and two stars by its side. She wore a sweater the same blue as the ocean, and a lighter blue scarf hung on her neck. Her hair was like fire on water – untamed and beautiful – a cascade that only just covered a face full of freckles. I’d gone up to her to ask for her name, her number, and the type of coffee she held in her right hand. Smiling, she gave me all three, and that taste of coffee would linger until we met again.
Dinner, candlelit and classy. This time she wore a black dress and I wore a green one. Both of us had chosen gold hoop earrings and a necklace to match. I learned she was an artist herself as we sipped red wine and ate pasta smothered in pesto and parmesan and topped with grilled chicken. I told her I was an aspiring writer, working a day job while I worked on my manuscript. She asked if I could show her some time. Only if you show me your work, I’d said.
I went to her home; she came to mine. Back and forth, a pattern emerged, a new rhythm. Lunch meant going to my run-down place after. Dinner meant going over to her studio apartment and falling asleep. Slowly, my toothbrush, my clothes, my journal moved with me. Her kitchen became our kitchen. Her room became our room. Her place became our place.
Vesper breathed life into me. I went out with her to art shows and picnics and coffee dates. I spoke my mind and listened to her voice as she listened to mine. My writing blossomed, words flowing in my mind and out onto the page. Countless poems detailing that hair, those freckles, those green eyes filled the journal. Short, everyday stories reflected the kindness, the intelligence, the confidence she embodied so effortlessly. As I wrote about her, she made art about me. She hid it from me, locking her creative space away, telling me it wasn’t ready. All I got were clues: orange and red paint and canvases stacked against the walls.
One day, she made me wear a blindfold and took my hands to guide me. I kept asking when I could look, only hearing soft laughs and whispered no’s until she shut the door behind us. Vesper untied the blindfold.
A forest, orange and red and yellow, was laid out on the canvas. A single redwood sat in the center, and just in front of it, a stone cottage. If I looked closely, I saw the two figures in the window, sharing a kiss, hidden away in a beautiful fantasy, a wonderland.
“Vesper, it’s breathtaking,” I could hardly speak, overwhelmed. “What did you name it?”
“‘Our Future,’” She smiled at me. “It’s our future, Farah.”
The memories after that could not be pieced together. Something had gone wrong. Something had taken Vesper away and trapped me here. All I remembered was a twisted shadow rising, swallowing her in darkness, and leaving me stranded on a beach. With no memory and no purpose, I had walked aimlessly for who knows how long.
I only woke up when that man tried to hand me that cup of coffee.
The fox had returned and was staring again. Instead of a wild spirit, I only found sadness. There were no pages left in the book, nothing to tell me what happened next, only what happened before. But I didn’t need that to know why the fox was here now, the vixen.
When I blinked, she was there, beautiful as the day I’d met her. She wore that same blue sweater, the same scarf, but a new smile, a grateful one. I reached out to her, this ethereal figment of my imagination that I could bring to life if I wanted. I could kiss her, hold her, be with her in the future we always wanted.
But it wouldn’t be real.
At that thought, Vesper, the coffee, the cottage, and the forest all fell away, revealing the white void underneath. I was alone in a prison with no idea who put me there and no idea how to get out and no idea how to get to Vesper. All that remained was me, the book, and a pen. The book was still opened to the blank page, the unfinished story.
Unfinished…
This wasn’t over, was it? I had power here – a power I only realized when coffee woke me up again. If I could create worlds in here, where was the limit?
After hesitating, I took the pen and wrote my name, Farah, in the book. The ink stuck for a second just before sinking into the pages. I kept writing, words flowing as I once again remembered Vesper, knowing that nothing would take her from my mind again. All the words sunk. They had to have power, I knew they did. I knew I had power, more than I ever could've imagined if I succeeded now.
After a few moments, words appeared on the page, ones I’d heard before when I came back to myself.
"Show us, then."
Taking a deep breath, I stood up and stared at the empty space in front of me. I reached out and touched the edge of the void, feeling it between my fingers. Rather than air, it was now paper, soft and delicate as a newly made book. My book. My story. Our story.
I took a deep breath and ripped my world open.
White Hydrangea
Dripping, a slow heat that suffocated as it lifted you into summer. I was twenty-four and had nothing to prove. I walked through the Yale University art museum while my best friend sat in front of a likeness to Michelangelo, tracing the every curve of people from history. What we didn't know was: we were creating our very own.
There was a white hydrangea plant outside of a church on the Yale campus. It created words inside my brain that hung like the branches themselves: sentences turned to paragraphs while my twenty-four year old self beamed and touched each flower. It was the happiest time of my life.
I was free. I went to bars and ordered margaritas with the abandon of the bees that sucked on the hydrangea's blossoms. I remember that plant, not only because I took copious pictures of it (although that, too), but because it was there only to be loved.
It was ninety degrees and the humidity lurked, turning into ghosts that I can only reminisce about in the present day. The heat seemed to evaporate as soon as it appeared. The hydrangea remained strong, tethered to the earth. It didn't seem bothered by anything, only happy to further illuminate the already piercingly bright day.
Signs
I was vibrating as the airbus catapulted through the heavy, steel grey cloud cover. A forecast of stormy weather embraced the plane as it gained altitude. Overhead bins rattled in unison. I clutched the aged, leather-bound novel a bit tighter as if that would steady me through the yoyo turbulence. The book was a mystery – On a Pale Horse – not your everyday fun, vacation read. It was tucked in the navy, mesh seat pocket, forgotten, separated from its owner. I knew the representation of the Pale Horse in the Book of Revelation. Out of curiosity I started reading it during the take-off delay.
That lead blanket feeling of takeoff lifted. We must have reached the cruising level. I was engrossed in the book but became aware of the eerie quiet. My overhead light flickered. It cast a halo over me. A flash out the window drew my attention. “What the Hell?” I gasped. An illuminated billboard sat on a cloudy patch of nothingness.
I focused on the words: “You’ll flunk out of college. You’re not disciplined enough or smart enough.” The book dropped with a soft thud. Another board appeared. “Matt is going to leave you for that overachieving redhead he works with.” I blinked rapidly. I didn’t want to look out the window again but couldn’t stop myself. “Friends? Ha. Didn’t you see the Insta post of them at dinner without you?” Why? Where did these come from? “Your dad is terminal. Not much time left. Why haven’t you visited?” A tear slid down my cheek. A heavy sadness weighed me down. I tried to unpack what I read and the bizarreness of it.
I reached down and retrieved the fallen book. I closed my eyes pinching the tension that was forming on the bridge of my nose. The novel must have stirred up my insecurities. “More like a personal hell” I muttered. I snapped the cover shut and put it back in the pocket holder. The airplanes’ overhead lights flicked on. The volume of conversations increased around me. The flight attendant’s landing instructions played over the intercom system. Plane life resumed.
Upon landing, I exited the plane as fast as possible. I wanted to put that ride behind me. Matt was picking me up and we were meeting some of his work friends for drinks. I have a final paper due but can pull an all-night work session or do it tomorrow. I need to unwind; I need a drink. I have too much stress in my life. That’s the only explanation for the mid-sky “this is your life” advertisement. I inserted my earbuds and hit my playlist. I froze mid-step and looked down at my phone. This is NOT on my list. ACDC’s “Highway to Hell” filled my head.
April 2024, K. Nave
Deliberations were made
I get on my knees and breathe in and out, hating the slight flash of relief I feel. Perhaps I may never have the fear of people judging me if they're simply gone but that is no prize compared to existence wiping out without me going with it. Or is this death? Is this purgatory or hell? Heaven? Have I finally gone mad and broke my mind? What the fuck do I-
A hand touches my shoulder. I look up at the familiar skin, backing away when I notice my face looking back at me. It's rather uncanny to see yourself in 3d, knowing it's the way others see you. The mirror of me goes around my frozen form and clicks its tongue, then sits in front of me.
"Don't you want to see me, too? This isn't an opportunity you'll always get, kit. And who knows how long it'll last?"
"I'm... Dreaming. Aren't I? But usually when I realise it's a dream, it means I'm in danger and then I wake up. I should be awake by now."
"But instead, you're here with me. Two Icaruses. Icari? Icari works. I like how it sounds."
"...me too."
I sit up and stare at it, waving my hand with the silly expectation that it will follow me. Instead, it languidly stretches back, and then stares at me a bit longer, waiting. I suppose I'm waiting too. Someone must speak first but if it's anything like me, we are both so filled with questions that we are paralysed by it.
"That man, mirror me... Was that... A god of some kind? Was I put here because I tried to give him money? Is this a reward or punishment?"
"I didn't expect God to have dreadlocks. No way it's one from the main religions - those guys aren't that cool."
"Will you focus?! We might be trapped here forever!"
"...not if you hope not. Tell me... If you could've gone anywhere. Anywhere at all. Where would it be?"
"I... There's so many places coming to mind. The Eiffel Tower, for some reason. A field of flowers. A... A pride parade-"
Suddenly I find myself on a float. Lito from Sense8 waves at me, peckes his husband and they both gesture for me to join their dancing and laughing. They look so sweet together, so real and I am so very, very frightened. My eyes widen as I shake my head to clear this delusion, startled when it all wafts away in a moment.
"I remember that series," it says softly. "You and I felt so much pain because it wasn't real but so much safety because in that moment, earphones in, tears rushing from our eyes, it was more true than anything else in the world. Do you..."
"I remember. But why do you? Are you me? Do you have this power?"
"I'm an extension of you. The voice in your head that you talk to, I suppose. One of them, anyway, seeing as I'm not an asshole, not am I extra soft and sweet. I'm... A more neutral, apathetic side of you. Likely chosen because you were freaking out and needed to be grounded and you're used to helping yourself alone."
"It's safer that way. And maybe... I was lonely." It stares at me. They stare at me. Then they nod and clear their throat.
"So? What now? Are we going to create planet Zeeweirld, finally?"
"Do you not realise how many people were vanished from the face of existence because of this? Some curious god who wanted to see what one of its creations may do with its power? Do you realise how much time it took for the earth to form as it did? For the universe to come into being - blackholes, galaxies, asteroids... For every little and big living thing to come into being... You want me to be responsible for destroying that?"
We are now seated on a space backdrop. However, it looks fake. You can tell it's some sort of a green screen or painting. I do my best but my memory and true interstellar beauty cannot measure up to each other. I usually think so small. The sky. A bird or two to entertain me. I lose myself in what isn't real most times to make it easier for me to exist. I avoid the emptiness but this...
It's all there is, now.
"We could do anything... Have anything. We don't have to suffer anymore. We don't have to be around people anymore. Come on, Self. Just one day of this?"
"The concept of time doesn't exist now either, not that it ever truly and fully did. We made it too important. That ruined a lot of things."
"Hey. Stop going the philosophical route! We can paint galaxies, like you just did, with our mind! You get to sit on clouds and turn them into cotton candy. You get to literally dance among the stars Sinatra style and create the perfect partner to kiss if you wish. Why are you thinking of giving it up...? Why...?"
"Everything you said? It was humans before that gave it all their name. Somebody called clouds clouds. Somebody made cotton candy before people began to fantasise that the clouds tasted like such. The stars weren't made to be danced beside. Not by me. I'd rather look at them from my room. No... It would be cruel of me to bring humanity back into existence. We will suffer. But it would be cruel of me to deny humanity the chance of existing. Whoever that godlike entity was tried to pass on their dilemma to me. Curious about what I would do. But see, I'm curious too. Not about creating my own world of this empty space. I want to see what happens to the real, human me. I want to see what and who I will love and hate. What will hurt me again. What will bring me safety and joy. I want to know if I survive this thing or if I succumb to the seas within that want me drowned. And as I will it? So it shall be."
I wake up and find out my classes for the day are cancelled. A strange dream was had but I hardly remember it, now. I remind myself I need to go out and buy something to eat when I sleep and wake again at 1pm. I remind myself I must try to exist, even if I don't feel like I do, even if I sometimes don't want to.
Alone, I venture into the world. The sun is angrier than it should be. I suggest some gentleness to Anyanwu, the Igbo god of the sun, amused when a cloud later does me the kindness of granting my request. Coincidence or manifestation? The answer is whatever I believe. And I believe both and neither because what is possible if not everything?
I feel eyes on me and turn, faced with an empty space where I feel something... Perhaps someone was. It disorients me but I do as I always do. Try to put myself together. So this is life? I mentally greet a lizard on the way, then struggle with the weight of my groceries against the haze taking over my hungry mind.
This is life.
Keep Your Mind Clear
Small waves float lazily on a nearly white sea. A seagull rides those waves, unbothered, unmoving. The sky is clear but in the distance, over the horizon they’re dark and ominous, moving towards the mainland where a flash flood will cleanse the dry earth after weeks of heat and no rain.
Richard Turse walks along the sand, head down, dragging his feet. His hands are both placed inside the pockets of his beige khaki shorts, and his hair drops in front of his eyes in a snake curl that he blows away several times. His head kind of feels like the sky. There’s sun, and thick clouds, and the feeling that something sinister is coming. Like soon his mind is going to simply stop providing him with comfort, and it’ll all be replaced with discomfort. His skin will feel too tight, and he’ll develop some serious form of agoraphobia.
Depression isn’t at the forefront of his mind, but it’s there. He’s heard friends and family talk about it, but he’d never felt it first hand. His ex-girlfriend, Holly Jensen had once told him that it had nothing to do with sadness, that it was simply an inability to feel comfort, and an inability to feel at one with the natural world.
He understood that now. Couples sat on the beach, scrolling on their phones. The sun blinded the screens, and he wondered if they could even see what they were looking at?
He wants to yell, “Hey, is there anyone out there? I’m looking for human life, human connection. Can anyone hear me?” But like every other time, he remains quiet, when he wishes he could speak up.
Up ahead, he sees something. And hears a hoarse voice singing out of tune. Richard squints and as he approaches he sees a man who must be on his knees, because he’s barely half the height of Richard, then he supposes it could be a little person, and then he stops squinting incase offense is taken at this man zeroing in on what the little person might suspect is some kind of circus freak. So, he returns to his casual walk, staring down at the sand, and the voice gets louder and clearer.
They sent me off to Vietnam
And I came home, half a man
They sent me off to Vietnam
Now all I have is a tin can
Richard can see the man clearly now, and he isn’t a little person, rather a legless veteran planted in the sand by the water with a cup held out. His eyes are closed, his face is old and his beard hangs down to his chest. The man is wearing a tattered faded green army jacket with pins and patches etched all across. And he notices the ring finger of his left hand is nothing but a stub, and he feels shitty for letting his mind tell him that his problems were the worst in this world, when there were people like this who still found a reason to wake in the morning.
Before he knows it, he’s standing in front of the man and the shadow from his body creates shade that opens the veterans eyes.
He looks down at the man and tries to hide pity from his face, but feels as though he’s failed that test. So, he sees the cup and inside his shorts he hauls out some change, nods his head and drops it in the cup.
There’s a splash, and he looks down to see it’s filled with coffee.
“Oh, my goodness. I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry.”
And instinctively, due to the nerves and guilt he’s feeling, Richard reaches down to put his hand in the scolding hot cup of coffee, and the veteran grabs his wrist. It feels like fire scolding his skin, and Richard lets out a scream and looks into the man’s eyes to see only empty white.
“Show us, then”
As he pulls his hands free, he stumbles back into the sand. But it’s no longer sand, just a blank nothingness. He rubs his hands on the surface and looks behind him, nothing. He rubs at his eyes, and tries again. The same thing.
The man is gone, the couple on their phones. The blue in the sky, the clouds, and darkening horizon, all gone.
“What’s going on?” He asks, and then screams it. “WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON?”
He puts his hands on his face, rocking back and forth and says, “bring back the sand, the sky, clouds. Bring it all back.”
Then he puts his hands next to him, and can feel the softness and the heat. He opens his eyes, and the sand is back, and the sky, but there’s nothingness where the water was, and Richard says softly, and questioningly, “uh the beach? The water?” And it returns.
Richards gets back on his feet, and the beach is back but there are no people, and he thinks he’s going crazy. He thinks about the couple on their phones, and looks in the direction where they were, and they appear, like nothing happened. Still scrolling the darkened screens.
It must be a dream, he thinks. It has to be a dream or everything he’s ever learned about the world, about time, space, all of it, was a blatant fucking lie. Because if an old legless man grabbing his wrist could stop the world and he could bring it back by thinking, then what in the holy hell did everything mean?
So he tries to bring back the legless man. He thinks and looks at the spot where he was just sitting. Richard feels foolish like he’s Professor X or something, holding his temples, trying to use his newfound power, or curse, or whatever it was, to make a man reappear. But he won’t.
So he continues along the beach, trying to remember everything as it was, but realizing just how hard that is, and just how much he’s gone through his days lately like a zombie, not paying attention to anything around him.
But then he clears his head, and says, fuck it. If he can’t remember, he’ll just make it better. He looks up ahead, and thinks of a jungle gym, monkey bars, a large slide that snakes around, and lands on soft ground. Kids laughing, and parents pushing them on the swings. Then beside that he puts in a splash pad, and a volleyball net, and a basketball court. Before long the beach is filled with laughter, and Richard smiles.
His legs are tired so he puts a bench to his left, and he sits and looks out. He imagines sail boats, yachts, and a cruise ship in the distance. He takes away the storm clouds over the horizon, and he puts a cold can of beer in his right hand.
And then in the empty spot next to him, he thinks about Holly Jensen, and when she appears, she says, “Hi, Richard,” and puts her hand out. Richard puts his hand on hers, and they look out at the water. “Things have been crazy, Hol. Real crazy. But maybe they’ll be okay. Maybe we can just stay here?l?”
And when he looks at her, she smiles but her eyes are hollow like the legless man.
“Keep your mind clear, Richard. Keep your mind from darkness.”
“What?”
And she points to the water. The water begins to turn red, and the storm clouds return.
“Don’t think about death and destruction, Richard. Keep your mind clear.”
And Holly begins to laugh maniacally. Mouth wide, too wide. Like her jaw should be broken. And then the voice of the legless man in his head, “They sent me off to Vietnam,” and the ring of artillery fire.
Richard falls off the bench, and sees a platoon of men in green, shooting at the Viet Cong.
“No, no, no, no.”
Then his mind is racing. He looks out and Professor Halburton, his History professor in college is standing in the sand with a whiteboard behind him. His eyes hollow. Blank white, and he has a stick and he’s pointing it at the board.
“Today’s lesson will be about the Salem Witch trials which began in February of 1692.”
And then Halburton points the stick beside him, and Richard looks.
Two women tied to a wooden pole scream as flames rise up, and burn their flesh.
Then Halburton says, “Today’s lesson will be the Holocaust”
“Today’s lesson will be about Columbine.”
“Today’s lesson will be about 9/11”
“Today’s lesson will be about Rwanda”
“Today’s lesson Richard will be about the bloodshed of everyone you love.”
He sees his parents lying in an x on the sand over each other. His little sister next to them. He’s crying now, holding his head.
“Please stop. Please, Dear God, stop”
He closes his eyes, screaming. And when he opens them, the couple who was staring at their phones, are looking up at him like he’s crazy. They do so only for a second, before returning to their screens.
Richard stands up slowly, shaking.
They sent me off to Vietnam
And I came home half a man
They sent me off to Vietnam
Now all I got is a dirty tin can”
Richard sees the body in the distance. And he wants to run the other way, but something is telling him that he can’t. That he shouldn’t. That he needs answers to whatever in the hell just happened.
And so he gets up, and walks slowly towards the legless man singing. As he approaches, he gets a sickening sense of deja-vu. He stops in front of the man he’s holding out a cup, but this time it’s empty. He does a double take just to make sure, but it’s empty, except for a few small coins.
“Do you uh know me?” Richard asks, and the man opens his eyes.
“Keep your mind clear, boy.”
“What in the hell was that?”
“Your world is coming to an end.”
“What?”
“Your world is coming to an end, Richard.” The blank eyes stare up at him. “The only way to keep your life intact is to rebuild it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The time will come when you’ll have to rebuild this world. And you’ve seen how beautiful it can be, but also how tragic. You’ll need training.”
“Training?”
The man puts the cup out. “Drop the change.”
Richard takes the change from his shorts, and drops it in.
Again, he grabs his wrist.
"Show me, then"
Again, nothingness.