Brave Story

by Miyuki Miyabe

  “Right,” he replied, handing Wataru a flashlight. “Be careful, now.” Wataru took the flashlight and ducked under the tarp. Inside, Uncle Lou stationed Wataru at the base of the stairs and began scanning the walls with his flashlight. He moved surprisingly smoothly for someone of his bulk, and he didn’t bump into or trip over anything. His face was drawn as he searched the first floor. For once, he wasn’t making any jokes.

  “Let’s check out this staircase next,” he said, climbing the stairs slowly, testing each step. He kept his flashlight trained ahead of him as he ascended, carefully watching the treads.

  “I’d expect to see more trash around here if someone was using this place as a hideout.” He stopped on the landing between the second and third floors, scratching his head. “I don’t even see any footprints in the dust.”

  Wataru shone his flashlight down at his own feet. There was a layer of coarse dust and powdered concrete everywhere: on the newly laid concrete floor, on the patches of exposed earth, and on places covered with plywood. Only the staircase was clean, with just a tiny bit of dust and dirt collected in the corners of each step. They would find no footprints there, for certain.

  Wait, wouldn’t a clean staircase mean someone was using it a lot? They might have been cleaning it with a broom, to keep their feet from getting dirty. Maybe it was the “friend” that the wizard mentioned.

  Maybe it was…Mitsuru?

  “Hey, Wataru, the stairs end here!” Uncle Lou called down from the third-floor landing. “That old man you saw was standing right here, you say?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s kinda scary up here,” he said, holding on to a handrail as he slowly looked around. “Not a good place for children and old folks to be wandering around. They need to be more careful about keeping people out. You should tell that boy Mitsuru that it’s dangerous to play in construction sites.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t come here.”

  “Of course he does. What about that deal with the ghost photo?”

  “Well, I’m not asking him.”

  He’d just make fun of me again.

  “You should talk to your mother and father about this when you get home. And the neighborhood association should…”

  Satoru’s cell phone rang in his breast pocket. He pulled it out and put it to his ear. “Hello? Huh? Oh, hey, Akira. Wait, I can hardly hear you. Hang on a minute.” He nimbly stepped down the stairs with the flashlight in one hand and his cell phone in the other. “Hello? No, I’m getting static here too. What’s that? Can you hear me? Hello?”

  Uncle Lou looked around for a place with better reception, eventually giving up and going back out under the tarp.

  All these steel beams are probably interfering with the cell phone signal.

  Wataru headed toward the front tarp, turning off his flashlight and sticking it into his back pocket. He crouched down to pull up the tarp when he suddenly realized it had gotten much brighter inside the building. He could see the heavy stitches in the tarp in front of him. Still in a crouch, he turned his head to look back up into the building.

  Wataru’s jaw dropped. On the third-floor landing, right where his uncle had just been standing—where he had seen the wizard—was…

  A shining gate!

  The gate had two doors, their upper halves covered in ornate decorations, with sweeping old-fashioned curves.

  It’s closed.

  The gate was closed tight, outlined by a bright white light around the edges and down the middle seam. Whatever space was behind the gate must be brightly lit. The white light spilled out into the haunted building.

  When did that get there?

  Wataru stood up shaking. He went to the stairs and began to climb. With each step it seemed that the light leaking in from the door grew brighter. Wataru couldn’t look away, even when he nearly tripped on the narrow steps. Relentlessly, he moved toward the door, as if drawn by some force beyond his control. By the time he neared the third floor landing, he was crawling.

  As he got close to the door he could feel the light’s warmth. Wataru began to smile. As he stretched his hand before him, he thought he could hear a sound like falling spring rain.

  The light…so pure, so bright, so gentle…

  Wataru reached the landing. Now standing, he reached for the door.

  Chapter 7

  Beyond the Door

  The band of light down the middle of the gate grew wider and brighter, almost as if to welcome Wataru.

  It’s opening!

  The door was being pushed open from the other side, from that world filled to overflowing with light. Wataru brought his hands up before his eyes to shield them from the warm radiance that spilled out over him like a tidal wave. It was so bright he couldn’t look straight into it. He crouched as if caught in the middle of a rapidly flowing river, barely able to stand.

  Then his eyes discerned a form: somebody was walking straight toward him. He was able to make out a human figure through the glow. It emerged from the gate with a leap, abruptly standing before him. It was a boy. It was Mitsuru.

  “Just what are you doing here?”

  He was close enough for Wataru to feel his breath on his forehead. He stood, eyes wide, legs planted firmly. One accusatory finger pointed forward.

  “What are you doing here?” he shouted again, but before Wataru could form a response, he spun around and ran directly back into the pearly whiteness of the gateway. In the blink of an eye, the brightness swallowed his form, and he was gone.

  Wataru couldn’t think. He didn’t have time to hesitate or feel scared. The next thing he knew, he was heading toward the gate, toward that light, running after Ashikawa. He crossed over the threshold and, unconsciously, he leapt. Into white emptiness. Into an ocean of light. The warm, flowing air of…

  The sky. I’m in the sky.

  It was like being in an airplane, looking out over a sea of clouds. Down, down, down he fell. The wind rushed past his ears as he sliced through the sky. Then he was in the clouds. Everything was slow and languid. He felt like an ancient sea turtle, swimming leisurely through tropical waters. He stretched out his fingers and toes, and the light infusing the clouds formed a nimbus about him. When Wataru moved, the halo moved with him. It was like he was dancing in a ring, surrounded by countless particles of light. Slowly, he stretched his body out, and smiled as he spun around. Above him hung a canopy of light, below him rested a sparkling sea of clouds.

  Then he broke through the clouds into an azure sky. Far beneath him lay a vast bluish-green grassland.

  “Aagh!” Wataru screamed.

  I’m falling!

  Suddenly everything sped up. He plummeted toward the ground like a stone. Puffy clouds zipped by in a blur. He felt nothing, only brightness. Still he sped downward, his velocity increasing relentlessly. He fell, and fell, and fell…

  And landed on his back with a thud, the impact knocking every last thought out of his head. He lay with his back flat against the ground, and his legs sticking straight up into the air.

  How embarrassing, he thought at last, and then, at least I’m still alive to be embarrassed.

  He was looking straight up into an impossibly bright sky. He had never seen such a beautiful, pure blue sky in his life. Except perhaps the photographs on posters in travel agencies, advertising tours to places like Hawaii and Guam. They were all doctored using computers to make the colors appear brighter, his father once told him. No sky is that blue, he said, not even in Hawaii, or Guam, or Saipan.

  Except here one was: an unblemished blue sky.

  Where am I?

  He looked around, but all he could see in every direction was desert. The sand underneath him was coarse and dry, and it trickled through his fingers when he scooped some up.

  Did this sand cushion my fall?

  The sun shone down on him, hot enough to make his cheeks and the back of his neck prickle. The vast grassland he had spotted during his fall was nowhere to be seen. Questions raced th
rough Wataru’s head. Had an air current carried him off to this place? He was in a desert, but a desert where? All he knew for sure was that he was on the other side of the gate. Which way should he go? How might he find that grassland from before?

  And Mitsuru, is he in here too, wandering around?

  He stood up shakily and, before he could get his bearings, was enveloped in a swift desert wind carrying a vortex of sand through the air. Holding back a cough, Wataru waved his hand in front of his face trying to see through the flying grit.

  Behind him, an inverted cone like an ant lion’s trap appeared in the sand. Soundlessly it grew, larger and larger, quickly gathering in the spot Wataru stood. He spun around, and hurriedly jumped back. The edge of the cone had almost reached his heel. Had he reacted a second slower, he would have fallen straight into it.

  “What’s that?!”

  Before his disbelieving eyes, something appeared in the deepest part of the cone: an animal with pitch-black fur. It burst into the air, spraying sand everywhere. With effortless grace it vaulted over Wataru’s head to land softly upon the sand behind him. The creature had four legs and a tail. It reminded him somewhat of a dog. A cloud of sand flew up around it, and it let out a single yap. Brushing away the blast of sand from his face, Wataru almost fainted in surprise.

  The beast had the body of a dog, a sleek, black Doberman, but in place of its head was a…what are those things called, that thing in the kitchen that Mom uses once in a blue moon to open wine bottles…a corkscrew! That’s it! This animal’s head is twisty like a corkscrew!

  The monster tossed its screwy head in Wataru’s direction and let out a snarl.

  Garrrrrraaar!

  The thing’s head vibrated with the discordant howl, but for the life of him, Wataru couldn’t fathom where the sound was coming from.

  “How’re you supposed to eat me,” Wataru asked with a forced laugh, “when you don’t have a mouth?”

  As if in answer, the monster’s entire corkscrewed head inflated and burst, pointed straight at Wataru. The inner part of the screw was a disgustingly moist, red thing, filled with pulsating membranes and surrounded by an array of sharp fangs.

  Wataru yelped and began to run. He took three steps away when he realized that a new vortex was forming in front of him. He dodged to the left, right toward another screw-head that came leaping from a sand cone he hadn’t seen before. It howled and pounced, instantly closing the distance between them.

  Somebody help! I’m surrounded by screw-headed monsters!

  Wataru covered his face with his hands, and felt something clamp down on the back of his neck. With a sickening lurch, his body flew up into the air. Peeking through his fingers, he realized that he was flying again. He wasn’t up high—it was like being on a ski lift. The only thing different was that his arms and legs were flailing in the air.

  Five of the screw-headed dogs ran across the sand below him, howling and jumping up to snap at Wataru’s dangling feet. New vortices were forming beneath him as he passed.

  They must live below the desert surface, coming up to catch their prey as it passes above them.

  “Are you out of your mind?” a shrill voice asked from above Wataru’s head. “Jumping down into the middle of a pack of gimblewolves like that. If I hadn’t happened by just then, you’d be stewing in stomach juices right now!”

  Whatever was carrying Wataru had him by the back of his collar, so he was unable to look up and see the source of the voice—doubtlessly the one who had saved his life. For now.

  “Thank you,” Wataru managed through the rush of desert wind. “You saved my skin back there.”

  “Of course I did, of course I did,” the voice answered with accelerating pitch. It seemed to appreciate the gratitude. “You’re a lucky one. I flew by right in the nick of time.”

  Another gust of wind caught them, and they dipped suddenly, making Wataru’s stomach lurch. “You know,” he shouted, “I think we’re clear of those screw-wolf-things. Maybe we should go on foot for a bit?”

  The thing carrying him snorted through its nose. “Nonsense! I do not slither and crawl upon the dirty ground! I fly, and I only fly! Got it, kid?”

  It occurred to Wataru that if the creature became angry, it might just let go, so he refrained from making any further protests. He was being carried along at a leisurely pace, about the speed of a bicycle, albeit one pedaling at the height of a two-story house above the ground. They were still surrounded by desert on all sides, but Wataru could see a rough field of large rocky outcroppings a little to the left of their trajectory ahead.

  “Hey kid, just where did you come from?” the shrill voice asked. “You’re not some kind of runaway, are you?”

  Wataru didn’t know what to say. How could he explain the situation when he didn’t fully understand it himself? And the word runaway gave him pause. What if I am a runaway?

  “Whatever you are, you sure are heavy.” Wataru could hear the sound of his rescuer’s wings beating out a slightly irregular pattern. Maybe it wasn’t as large a bird as he had first imagined. “Rest break on those rocks,” it squawked, and their heading shifted to the left. Their altitude dropped over the rocks and Wataru was let—or rather, tossed—down.

  “Hey! Watch out!” Wataru landed on his rear on the rocky shelf at running speed and almost bounced over the far edge. Something grabbed the back of his collar.

  “Poor reflexes, kid!”

  With much fluttering and flapping, a huge scarlet bird landed in front of Wataru, who was now standing, rubbing his sore behind. The red of its feathers was so pure they seemed to have been dyed crimson. Its wingspan was only about six feet and it had a slender body, but the claws on its legs looked strong and sharp, big enough to easily clamp down on Wataru’s head. Just imagining those claws on his collar, brushing up against his neck, sent an involuntary shudder down his spine.

  The bird folded its wings, slightly cocked its head, and looked Wataru over. It had a face much like an eagle, but it sported a crest of gold feathers atop its head, like the fronds on a samba dancer. They played gracefully in the desert wind.

  “Th…thank you,” Wataru said again. His throat felt suddenly dry, and his voice sounded hoarse. It’s a bird! A talking bird!

  “Ah, it was nothing. But, do answer me one thing. This area belongs to us—the karulah. We don’t take kindly to other tribes in our…” Suddenly the bird started in delayed surprise. “Why, you’re a man-child!”

  “Yes…yes I am,” Wataru responded, raising an eyebrow. Were humans a rare thing in this strange place?

  “And just what is a man-child doing here? How did you get here?” the bird asked excitedly, beating its wings against the rock, forcing Wataru to hold up his hands to shield his eyes against the whipping sand.

  “W-wait! Hold on and I’ll tell you! Stop flapping!”

  “Oh, right,” the bird muttered and folded its wings up again. Wataru took a deep breath, and somehow managed to regain his composure. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “I came through a gate high up in the sky and fell down here,” he said. “That’s really all I know.”

  Slowly the bird turned its large eyes up to the blue sky. “I see,” it said at last. “So the Porta Nectere is open…”

  “The Porta…Nectere?”

  The creature nodded. “Aye. ’Tis the doorway between the Over Here and the Over There—a huge gate, so high its top is hidden in the clouds. None in my tribe has ever seen the top, and because no one in either the Over Here or the Over There has wings stronger than the karulah, that means no one has seen it.” The bird thrust out its breast as it spoke. Its long feathers fluttered in the wind. “The Porta Nectere opens only for ninety days every ten years, as such things are counted Over There. I suppose this means that the ninety days have started. I had completely forgotten about it.”

  Wataru could only gape.

  “And so you came through the doorway, stumbling from the Over There into the Over Here, and fell
smack down into a pack of gimblewolves,” the creature concluded thoughtfully. “I see, I see.”

  What the creature referred to as the “Over Here” must be where he was now, Wataru figured, while the “Over There” was where Wataru normally lived, the real world. But something didn’t fit. The gate that Wataru had come through was certainly impressively large, but nothing like what the bird had just described. Wataru wondered out loud about this, and the bird haughtily replied, “Well, of course. The true scale of the Porta Nectere is visible only from this side.”

  “I see,” Wataru lied. At least his heart wasn’t racing quite so furiously anymore. He plopped down on the rock and took a closer look at his sur-roundings. He could see clearly in all directions, which wasn’t saying much. No matter which way he turned, all he could see was desert. Here and there, vague lines interrupted the sand dunes—likely other rocky outcroppings like the one where they sat. One horizon was a dim yellow line that shimmered like a mirage. A sandstorm, maybe?

  “Well, you look a bit flustered,” the scarlet bird said, ruffling its wings in what was apparently a laugh, “but that’s to be expected, I suppose. You didn’t have any idea all of this was here, did you? First time I’ve ever picked up a stray. I have heard of other young man-children mistakenly falling through the door, though, so take comfort! You’re not the first. Aye, you may be a bit on the dull side, but at least you’re in good company.”

  Wataru decided to take that as a compliment. The creature had saved his life, after all, and he did seem to be a generally decent person—or rather, bird.

  “So, um…where is this place?” Wataru asked. “Doesn’t Over Here have a name?”

  “Vision,” the scarlet bird replied.

  “Vision?”

  Wataru remembered a spell in Saga II called “Vision Strike.” It was a spell usable only by powerful wizards that confused their enemies with magical visions that led them to attack each other.

  A vision. An illusion.

  “So this whole place is just make-believe?”

  “I suppose it must seem that way to a man-child.”